


A Dish Served Cold

by hobert



Series: Richie in Starfleet [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Star Trek
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 83,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobert/pseuds/hobert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brand new ship, a decade old enemy, and a 5,500+ year old Immortal. What else could go wrong for Richie Ryan and the crew of the USS Intrepid on a simple shakedown cruise? You'd be surprised. Can you say "Klingons?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
_A Highlander/Star Trek Universe  
Crossover by Kevin H. Robnett_   


**2369 A.D. -- Stardate 46171.5 -- Earth Orbit**

Lounge 9/127, located close to the Spacedock control center, was alive with color and music. It wasn't the only lounge in the orbital complex, but it afforded the best view of the interior of the mammoth space station. At least, when the windows weren't darkened, like they were now. Tonight, it was specifically reserved for a Starfleet function, the presentation and christening of the fleet's newest ship, the Intrepid-class. 

As functions go, it was pretty high up on the excitement scale, requiring a representative of all the races jockeying for position in the Federation. But being only a minor scout ship, not something like, say, the Galaxy-class _Enterprise_ , it was left for the underlings to populate. All the really important diplomats were brown nosing at Admiral Hancock's granddaughter's birthday party in Australia. 

"I hate these suckers," Lieutenant Richard NMI Ryan whispered as he entered the room. His hand tugging at the tight neck collar of his maroon dress uniform with a will of its own. Even though Command had shortened the tunic's length, and added pants instead of tights, he still hated the outfit. _Give me a tuxedo any day_ , he mentally wished. Resisting the urge to run his other hand through his dark blond hair, he let his blue eyes scan the crowd. _Nothing higher on the diplomatic food chain than Assistant, so I should be safe_ , he silently added. _No one that would know me from...._

{ _Just plaster on that winning smile of yours, Richie._ } Telepathic words filled the Immortal's head as Captain Pretar Lorrict walked up behind him. Dressed similarly, the captain sported jet black hair slicked back and a more rounded face. But it was the deep chocolate eyes that betrayed his full Betazoid heritage. Pretar placed a hand on Richie's shoulder to strengthen the mental contact. _{No one will care that you are 394 years old. Besides, you don't look a day over two hundred.}_

Richie snorted, startling a waiter passing in front of him. _Petey, I look nineteen, just like I always have. Now go bug someone your own age._ With deft hands he grabbed two glasses of champagne and passed one over without asking. Watching his friend and captain raise an eyebrow, they clinked glasses, a personal toast to their accomplishments. "To space," they both said. It was the last private moment together for the pair. 

"There you two are." The sharp voice of Janice Chrane, head of the Federation Ship Design Department, cut like a knife through the Brandenburg concerto that was playing. Before her sentence was finished, she had her arms nestled around both men, gently herding them to a gathering of dignitaries. "One can't be late for one's own party," she added as the group opened up to admit them. "May I present Captain Lorrict and Lieutenant Ryan, two valuable members of the _Intrepid's_ design team." 

For Richie, the party dissolved into one handshake after another, with sincere compliments sprinkled around mindless pleasantries. He hardly noticed how many glasses of champagne he had sipped, until the warm glow of a true alcoholic haze finally settled about him. His head suddenly twinged when someone tapped a glass, drawing everyone's attention. 

Janice had made her way to the large dark windows that overlooked the gigantic interior dock. "If I could have your attention please," she called as small groups gathered closer. "It is with great pride I introduce the design team, if you don't already know them. Captain Pretar Lorrict, who oversaw the decade long project." Heads around Richie turned, but the Immortal was focused on his glass. He no longer needed to search out the Betazoid. 

_Petey, the wonder dog_ , he thought. His eyes focused on the amber liquid as it swished around in the crystal. _I have here a hoop...._

_{You're drunk, Rich.}_

The Immortal sighed. _I certainly hope so_ , he mentally answered. _Sorry, just being the morbid person I usually am._ Carefully, he moved out into the open, certain of what came next. 

"A real find from the Academy, Lieutenant Richard Ryan, one of the project's aerodynamics and computer advisors, as well as chief pilot," Janice announced, motioning in his direction. All the eyes focused on him as he took a slight bow. He had worked hard these last ten years, pushing more and more for certain things. Higher efficiency, tougher specs. It seemed he was the only one in Starfleet trying to keep the design befitting its purpose. A deep space scout vessel. And now, to reap the benefits. The eyes swung away as Janice continued. "Lieutenant Commander Sonya Gomez, structural and engineering designer, and Dr. Leah Brahms, head of the Theoretical Propulsion Group, who designed the warp systems." Across the room, two ladies nodded to a smattering of applause. 

Sonya was a person they had snatched straight from the _Enterprise_. The first engineer for the design team had retired suddenly for health reasons, leaving an ever-widening gap until Lt. Cmdr. Gomez had expressed a desire for the job. A natural "hands-on" talent, she had quickly lost her Academy delusions after working over a year and a half on the flagship. There she had been one out of a hundred in Engineering. The chance to run her own show, with a crew of under twenty-five, sounded very appealing. 

And Richie certainly found her appealing. With long, black hair and Latino looks, she fell well within the Immortal's attraction parameters. But getting to know her as a drinking buddy, and then a constant co-worker had dulled the desire for sex. Now, she considered herself one of the "guys," and Richie hadn't the heart to push it further, and lose a good friend to his libido. 

Dr. Brahms, on the other hand, was aloof as any pure scientist could be. Rarely did she leave the Mars Utopia plant, where most of the construction on the _Intrepid_ was done. After working diligently on the Galaxy-class design, both in conception and building, she turned her attentions on modifying her theories for a smaller, more powerful design. Warp 9.5 was nothing to sneeze at. 

"And now," Dr. Chrane was saying, drawing everyone closer to the large windows, "the newest Starfleet design, the Intrepid-class." To the applause, the darkened windows became clear, revealing the small scout ship. Every time Richie saw the _Intrepid_ in the last few days, it took his breath away. No longer attached to the bulky McKinley Station, its sleek shape was evident. The forward section was oblong, the largest part of the ship. Reminiscent of the newer ships, like the Galaxy-class, it curved up and down from a single main deck. Large windows dotted the saucer, the Captain's quarters as well as the mess hall, and the Ready room and briefing room on Deck One.

The bottom curve dropped to hold the main deflector dish, while the top angled down to make the shuttle bay. Straight planes on either side attached the stubby warp nacelles. Unlike its bulkier cousins, the ship was not designed for separating sections. Instead, the warp nacelles pivoted up to create the warp field, while they remained lowered for impulse cruising. A surprise benefit was the ability for atmospheric flight, possibly even a landing. While theoretically capable, the ship had only landed in simulations. But always ones to prepare, the design team had left room in the lower decks for landing struts. Someday....

Applause broke through the Immortal's flight of fancy, bringing him back to the present. Richie had totally missed the christening. People came up to him, shaking his hand and adding congratulations for a job well done. Others were clustered around Pretar, the one who had launched the bottle of honey wine, the last of Richie's private stock that Darius had brewed, so long ago. After all, the _Intrepid_ only deserved the best. 

Richie remembered Pretar coming up to him, after the scale models had been replicated, asking him what prompted the name. It was easy enough to research the two previous ships named _Intrepid_. But for the Immortal, it held a much more special meaning. The first ship, destroyed in 2268, was manned by an all-Vulcan crew, many Richie had counted as friends. The second _Intrepid_ , closely linked to the Federation-Klingon Peace talks twenty years ago, was also a part of the Immortal's life. He wanted to honor and remember the valiant sacrifices of both ships and crews by naming the new starship after them. His captain had readily agreed upon hearing his tale. A lot of the details had been left out of his story to Pretar, a fact that still bothered him. But he wasn't ready to share that part of his life just yet. 

"A lovely design," a female voice spoke nearby. With a start, Richie focused on an older woman next to him, waiting for a reply. The Immortal searched his memory, trying to place the face. It did seem familiar.... 

_{Laura Benteen, Admiral Leyton's aide,}_ Pretar supplied from across the room. _{She's the one that pushed for the gel packs.}_

Richie's eyes lit up in recognition, but there was still something nagging at his brain. _Oh, well._ "Thank you, Commander," he replied, his lips widening in a smile. "But you've been out to McKinley since the hull was finished. You've seen it before." 

"Indeed I did, Lieutenant," Laura acknowledged, adding her own smile as she emphasized the last word. "And please, call me Laura. I never had a chance to compliment the designer. The last I saw of you, most of your body was in a relay conduit. It's nice to know the rest of you live up to the promise of your legs." Her bold gaze emphasized her remark. 

Unable to keep from blushing, Richie chuckled, preening from the praise. "Thank you, I so hate to disappoint a higher-ranking officer. But I didn't do everything myself." It took a moment to identify his unease. He had spent so much time in the last decade hitting on every woman he met, being chased seemed almost new. _God, it has been too long_ , he thought. Finishing off his glass, and noticing hers was low as well, he raised an eyebrow. "Would you care for some more champagne, Laura?" 

"I would love some, Richard," she replied, easily sliding her arm into his as the pair walked to the buffet table. Old habits, or more truthfully, a whole way of life settled comfortably over Richie. He knew how to play the millennium old game, and play it well.

* * * * * *

_At least someone is having fun,_ Pretar thought, knowing a little of the sentiment would leak over to the Immortal. _I wonder if I should warn him she's Dr. Brahms' sister.... Nah._ He had caught the pair out of the corner of his eye, and shamefully eavesdropped on Richie's side of the conversation. He quickly glanced around, aware he was alone. _I wonder if I could sneak out of...._

 _{NEPHEW!}_ The mentally shouted greeting overrode any thoughts Pretar might have of leaving. He managed to turn before two hands had grabbed his shoulders, pulling him into a dress that was half plant life, half décolletage. _{It's been too long.}_

"Hello, Auntie," Pretar verbally replied, knowing it would antagonize his aunt. One thing the infamous Lwaxana Troi detested was Betazoids who spoke aloud to another Betazoid. This time was no exception. His first look at his aunt's face saw a mix of distaste and disappointment. At least, what he could see of her face. Her dark, black hair had been made up to resemble the Battle of T'Pak, and her brown eyes were the only parts of her face not plastered in makeup. The whole ensemble resembled the Bride of Frankenstein. _Not that anyone spared from Richie's tastes in entertainment would know what that means_. _She's on the prowl tonight. I feel sorry for any guy she corners._

Lwaxana huffed, causing the leaves to tremble. _{You and Deanna will be the death of me. Why, my own flesh and blood unable to live up to modest decorum....}_

_It's good to see you too,_ Pretar responded, mentally cutting her off. While Lwaxana's daughter, Deanna, might hold her ground against her mother's idiosyncrasies, he didn't. But that didn't stop him from teasing. Nephews were allowed. _When did you get here? Mother didn't say anything about you traveling._

The Betazoid ambassador pulled away, holding Pretar at arm's length, giving him a once over in his dress uniform. _{Well, dear, when I heard you were finally unveiling this little ship of yours, I had to come. Now, turn around and let me look at you}_

Pretar fumed, not complying. _I am a starship captain, and a decorated officer of the Federation. Not a dog._ But still, he softened under Lwaxana's gaze. _Why is it, Auntie, that you can make me feel like I'm seven years old?_

The Betazoid ambassador smiled warmly, enveloping Pretar in another hug. _{Because you still are seven, to me. My little jumarie, running around the gardens hunting for blossoms. And you are much too handsome to be called a dog.}_ She brushed a stray hair out of his face lovingly. 

_You can stop that now,_ Pretar thought, pulling away. _Come on, let me show you my ship._ Holding out his arm, he escorted his aunt to the windows, both nodding greetings to the few remaining partygoers they passed. 

_{Your ship?}_ a sudden thought intruded from outside the private conversation. Pretar felt his aunt jerk to a stop as Richie approached from the other side of the room, alone. The Immortal was smiling, unaware he was broadcasting to both of them. 

"Auntie, may I present my first officer, Richard Ryan?" Pretar hoped to forestall any of Lwaxana's theatrics, but couldn't mentally warn her without it leaking to Richie. At this close distance, even blocked thoughts might be transferred along the link. "Rich, this is my aunt, Lwaxana Troi." 

The female ambassador drew herself to her full height, holding out her hand to the lieutenant. "Daughter of the Fifth House," her voice automatically added as Richie nodded over her wrist and gently kissed it. "Holder of the Sacred Chalice..." 

While his aunt babbled on with her titles, Pretar mentally added a _yadda, yadda, yadda_ in her direction, only to find that she had full shields up, blocking all thoughts both in and out. It was rare Lwaxana didn't pry as much as possible into the people she met, especially males. Young, handsome, available males. Richie certainly qualified as such. 

Even though the Immortal's body was frozen forever at nineteen, a somewhat hardened cast to his features added a few years, making him seem experienced, but still in his prime. Centuries of training and workouts barely showed through the cumbersome dress uniform, but nothing could hide the grace and calmness of his movements. He certainly matched Lwaxana's quiet poise with his own dignified aura. _Exactly what she wants from a lover, especially since she still is in Phase. Normally, she would have him horizontal by now, and here they are, casually chatting about the weather. This does not bode well_, Pretar quietly thought, shielding his own unease. 

"And how long have you known my nephew?" Lwaxana was asking when Pretar focused on the conversation again. Even though her tone was light, and her body language relaxed, there was a glint in her eye that anyone in her family knew too well. Battle stations. "Frankly, I was surprised he never mentioned you." 

Richie cocked his head, as if making a decision. "Only a couple of years," he finally said, sticking to the usual cover story. They had devised the lie to give to anyone who didn't yet know Richie was an Immortal. Not many would take the time to check it out. "Straight out of the Academy, in fact." 

Lwaxana nodded as all the pieces mentally slid into place. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan," she intoned, holding out her hand for Richie to kiss, abruptly ending the conversation. "If you'll excuse us, I need to talk to my nephew a bit." Richie took his leave as the ambassador grabbed Pretar's arm, moving him toward a private area with sofas. 

"Auntie...," Pretar began, still unable to penetrate her shields. Now, he was really worried, a sentiment echoed in Lwaxana's eyes. 

_{I want you to tell me everything,}_ she began, her emotions tightly controlled and filtered. Not able to wait for a response, she continued. _{It's not only that we are still in shock after you bonded with Donald, but to now take up with a...a boy barely out of his teens.... Nephew, you are a Son of the Fifth House!}_

Pretar calmly took his aunt's hands in his own, wishing the sudden pounding in his head would go away. _Aunt. Slow down. Yes, Richie and I are bonded, but we are not involved._

The ambassador still didn't look mollified. _{Even if that is true, you're bonded with him. So soon....}_ She grasped his hands harder, her concern evident on her face. Pretar always knew he was going to have this conversation, but the time never seemed right, and the pain still hurt. But it looked like he would have to try. 

_When the_ Kyushu _was lost at Wolf 359, I was here, seeing if the_ Intrepid _might be able to leave drydock. I was actively linked to Donald when he died. I got sucked in. I...I felt him die!_ All the horror Pretar had felt that day came rushing back, filing the hole that was still inside him. _I only remember blackness. They said I was almost dead myself._ He shuddered, recalling the fear when they told him he had been unconscious for eight days, hovering on the brink of oblivion. _Richie was nearby. He was concerned, and already partially telepathic...._

_{And so you transferred link to him,}_ Lwaxana finished, experiencing the past as well. Her hand was now brushing his hair, his face pressed into the nape of her neck. _{He saved your life.}_

Pretar risked a glance across the room, to where Richie and Sonya were slowly dancing. Once again he checked the bond, making sure it was tightly shielded from his end. _He's been a good friend, Auntie. For a very long time. He's been very supportive while I've tried to rebuild my life again._

Lwaxana choked at that comment. _{I know, precious one. An imzadi's death can be very hard to live beyond. But it's possible.}_ With sure hands, she lifted his face to look into his eyes, her own shining with tears. _{I guess I should be grateful you're still with us. But why haven't you had it dissolved? The Borg attack was over...what, two years ago?}_

_It's been very handy to be telepathically connected to my second-in-command. Also, it's something we've both grown comfortable with._ Pretar was unwilling to add he was scared to go on alone. Feeling Richie through the bond helped to fill a void inside of him, if only minutely. But the Immortal wasn't Donald. 

_{How do you...?}_ Lwaxana began, stopping when she remembered whom she was talking with. Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to stop the mental image already passed telepathically along. 

_Have sex with someone?_ Pretar finished. _Without all that lust and passion traveling along the link? Easy. Neither of us have had the time._ That caused her to blush, a reaction very rare for her. _Auntie, I am an adult. And after seeing you in action over the last couple of decades, I can't imagine you being shy about it._

_{Oh, my darling Pretar. Some things just shouldn't be discussed among relatives.}_ Her gaze was drawn to the windows, where the _Intrepid_ floated lazily in the mammoth bay. _{And you've done lovely things with your time. Will you show me around now?}_

Pretar smiled, pleased that his aunt was interested in the fruits of his labor. _I would be delighted._ Taking her arm, he escorted her to the doors, wanting to walk her over instead of transporting. On the way out, he dropped the shields on the bond long enough to add a good night to Richie as he left.

* * * * * *

Sonya Gomez glanced up at her dancing partner for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Are you sure everything is fine?" Her voice was somewhere between miffed and concerned, and tinged with a faint accent.

Richie blinked twice, finally looking at her instead of off into space. "I'm sure. Pretar just wished us good night." With a burst of energy, he whirled her around, glancing at the Betazoid relatives leaving. When his gaze returned to her face, the lips were pursed. It was a speculative look of hers, one the Immortal had learned to avoid. "You've seen me talk to him before. Where's the fire?" 

"That was an awfully long two words, Rich." His dancing steps weren't lost on her. Being a latecomer to the project made her no less a family member. "And that wasn't a talking-to-Pete look, that was a spying-from-the-bushes stare if I ever saw one." 

Richie blushed, which was not an unfamiliar reaction to her. "Busted. All right, lady. Dear Captain Lorrict blocked me out of the link, which he only does for very, very good reasons." For a moment, the Immortal looked thoughtful. "I'd bet they were talking about me." 

"What are the stakes, and how do we prove it?" Sonya fired back. Casual bets between the pair were a common occurrence, done mostly out of fun. Occasionally, serious wagers were taken, but nothing that would affect their friendship. After all, it wasn't good practice to alienate a shipmate, especially on a ship as small as the _Intrepid_. 

That sent Richie thinking again. "I'll pass on that one. Pretar won't tell us, and I don't think I want to visit with Ambassador Troi again any time soon." The live band, here at Richie's insistence, finished the song with a flourish. With flair, the Immortal dipped his partner on cue, the perfect ending to a long, dreary evening. "And on that note," Richie punned, "I will bid you good eve'n." 

"Alas, fair Richard," Sonya quipped, raising a free hand to her forehead as they straightened up. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. Till anon, I say." Her eyes betrayed a sparkle Richie was fond of, her laughter and humor one of the many things he liked about the engineer. "Adieu," she finished, the pair separating with arms outstretched. 

Richie chuckled. "That wasn't Shakespeare," he said, watching her exit from the room. With a sigh, he glanced around the party, noticing all but the serious night owls were gone. He blinked, unaware where the time had gone. _I wonder if the Ambassador has that effect on everybody,_ he speculated. Apparently Pretar wasn't listening.

* * *

Morning wouldn't come fast enough to satisfy the Immortal. For the third time since waking, Richie turned over in his bed, eyeing the chronometer and glaring at it when it didn't read anywhere near 0700. With a grunt, he turned back over, the sheets trying to keep up with his tossing. He hated nights like this, when his mind was racing at warp three and his body was too tense to sleep. The morning would be the worst. Body aching, head pounding, and trying to function. 

Usually, a long, hot shower would relax him enough to sleep some and salvage the night. But occasionally, when the muscles were knotted and his heart pounded, he would visit his workout room and remove himself from the concerns keeping him awake. 

It had been built over two hundred years ago, on the far side of the house from the sleeping rooms. Back then, an occasional sparring match could occur at a moment's notice, and the participants might not want the rest of the house to come watch. There was only one door in and out of the chamber, completely built with bricks and wood like a reminiscence of days gone by. 

Richie's feet always felt at home on a hardwood floor, the satisfying thump of a staff on it a happy reminder of days gone by. Even on mornings it was cold, he welcomed the sounds as he moved over the chill surface. The brick walls were adorned with all manner of weapons, most usable by the Immortal, over half he felt confidant to teach to others. But that had been a long time ago. 

The Immortal took three steps into the room, enough for the door to automatically close. Throwing a towel into the corner, he took a deep breath before running through a brief stretching routine. Dressed in just sweatpants, it took only a moment before his body was limber. Another lungful of air, and he started. 

His hands rose from his side, meeting in front of him and crossing. With determination, his right foot stepped out, his body moving forward and then hesitating, his mind forgetting if he should turn right or left. Richie snorted a curse word, the first turn of this particular kata he always forgot. Unsure, he turned to the....

>   
> **_1995 A.D. -- Seacouver, Earth_**
> 
> _...right, Duncan calling out the moment Richie committed to it. "Other left," the Highlander yelled, his deep baritone ringing in the empty dojo. Flustered, Richie stepped back to start the kata over. Duncan only smiled when the younger Immortal turned to the left this time, sliding into the next move. "Just feel the way the body wants to go, and follow it."_
> 
> _Richie knew his teacher was only trying to help, but the words still made him bristle. Then again, the youngster had never been much of an avid learner. Even about the Immortal stuff. But this year had been especially rough. Then there was Adam. For some reason, even the thought of that particular Immortal didn't sit very well. Richie had only just met him. He seemed nice enough._
> 
> _Three times through, and then Duncan showed Richie the last of the kata, a gift of sorts from the teacher to student. Duncan had created it especially for him, to emphasize and develop the younger Immortal's weaknesses and strengths. Richie had no clue anything was up, until the Highlander brought him out to the dojo floor and began showing it to him._
> 
> _Left alone to finish smoothing the routine out, Richie's thoughts turned again to his own ever-changing relationship with the Scot. The lines between mentor and student were continuing to blur, no longer comfortable. Richie stopped in mid-form as he realized he was finally seeing the man as he truly was, not the fantasy hero he had pictured. One that wasn't perfect. Right then, the hero in question entered through the changing room door. Richie glanced up as the Highlander descended the stairs._
> 
> _"What?" Duncan asked, as he noticed Richie's gaze. He glanced at his outfit, trying to find what was wrong. Richie still hadn't moved. "Too much aftershave?"_
> 
> _Richie stifled a laugh, the clueless expression on Duncan's face was almost too comical. "No, it's fine," he said, smiling. He walked over to the bench, the Highlander following behind. "You and Adam seem pretty chummy."_
> 
> _This piqued Duncan's interest. "Yeah," was all he replied, acting indifferent. He paused a moment, waiting to see if Richie would say more. "We're going to Joe's tonight, for the band. Wanna come?"_
> 
> _The faint stirrings of a half-forgotten dream shook the young Immortal, who was almost ready to answer yes. A sword tantalizingly close to the Highlander's unprotected neck. Fear crept through his body. He spotted the confusion in Duncan's eyes as the Highlander saw the emotion overtake his friend. "I have plans," Richie hurriedly said, covering his thoughts. "I need to start packing if I'm gonna last a week alone on your island."_
> 
> _That appeased Duncan. "Well, maybe next time." A quick clasp of Richie's shoulder, and the Highlander retrieved his coat from the stairs, then moved to the front doors._
> 
> _"I don't trust him," Richie called out, unsure where the need to warn his friend came from. Too many strange things were happening lately. He also knew the warning might weaken their already touchy relationship, but he had to voice his concerns. He owed the man no less._
> 
> _Duncan paused, turning his head and giving Richie a small smile. "I know," he quietly acknowledged before turning and leaving. Richie sighed, wondering if he had done even more damage. The young Immortal shivered, the sweat evaporating off his body as he picked up the towel,..._  
> 

...drying off his bare skin. Muscles exhausted, Richie wondered if he should take a shower or jump straight into bed. It was the promise of the scalding water, the warm liquid soothing his body that decided it.

He rolled his head under the spray, letting the water wet his hair and run down his body. Each movement of his neck stretched worked muscles, and added to the pleasant glow coursing through him. More and more, he let his body relax, trying not to think of anything in particular. He'd move and let the water pound the stretched skin, until any tenseness was gone. He shifted to his arms, working each limb slowly, basking in the steaming heat. 

If it wasn't imperative he get some sleep, a sauna sounded really tempting. _There's always tomorrow night_ , he promised himself as he finally slid out of the shower. He walked into the bedroom, towel drying his hair. Within minutes of crawling under the covers again, he was sound asleep.

* * *

**"Captain's log, Stardate 46173.9. Captain Lorrict Pretar commanding the _USS Intrepid_ for her first test drive. Today, we have a six hours intra-system cruise lined up, trying to spot any glitches before we actually fire up the warp drive for the shakedown cruise next month. Due to the shortness, we will be able to operate with the minimum crew already assigned. Now if we just don't hit anything...."**

"Captain on the bridge," Richie called out, already sitting at the forward pilot's console and slowly spinning around in his chair. Unfortunately, the effect was lost because only he and Pretar were currently on the bridge. Still, it didn't keep the Immortal from smiling at the Captain's discomfort. 

_I'll get you for that_ , Pretar threatened as he moved to the center command chairs. Once he got comfortable, he raised his head, looking at the ceiling. "Bridge to Engineering. Mr. Aston, leave our newly promoted Commander Gomez alone and report to the bridge. Pronto." 

***Aye, sir. On my way. Aston out.***

"Mr. Ryan," Captain Lorrict continued, "prepare for departure." 

"Yessir," Richie drawled, spinning back to his console. Much longer than most conn stations, it was specifically designed to handle a lot more than just navigation. With a kick, the Immortal shoved his chair down the panels, manually bypassing the normal procedure and beginning the preflight checklist from his station. "Spacedock Control, we are beginning departure sequence. Requesting clearance for space doors." 

***You are cleared, _Intrepid_.***

Once more Richie checked the readouts, before his fingers raced over the clear polymer of the console. "Roger, Control. Severing power conduits and ODN bypasses." 

Outside the ship, where the tunnel from Spacedock melded with the _Intrepid_ on Deck Six, wisps of gasses escaped when the seals were breached. As the tunnel slowly withdrew, the docking port covers engaged, closing off the conduits to space. The results were very obvious. All lights, in and outside the vessel blinked off. The ship was a dark hulk inside the well-lit interior of the space station. 

"Emergency generators coming on-line," Richie called out in the dark, as the secondary lighting activated, casting a pale glow around the room. Various stations lit up, as the automatic Ops programs rationed the available power. "Engineering, we are go for cold start."

* * * * * *

Chief Engineer Gomez really wished certain members of the crew didn't have such a sense of humor. Being suddenly immersed in darkness, especially when trying to bring a new warp engine on-line, was not very amusing. "Thank you, Richard," she said, gritting her teeth. "Ever hear of warning us?"

 ***Nonsense, Gomez. You perform much better in the dark. Bridge out.***

_I would break every bone in his body, if it would do any good._ Grimly, Sonya stormed over to the main console facing the primary reactor core. In the dim light, it was difficult to spot all the engineering crew. _I still might._ "Chuck, we got enough power for the constrictors?" 

From one of the upper decks above her, a hand beacon flirted. "Yeah," a male voice called out, the steady baritone of Lt. Charles Goodwin. "Backup cells are charged and active." 

The console under her hands beeped, alerting her that the temperature was steady. "Ready, people?" she called, giving every one another chance to spot something wrong. When nobody replied, she opened the magnetic constrictors, letting a small amount of matter and antimatter race toward each other. The particles collided in the center of the reaction chamber, completely annihilating each other. The resultant energy, directed by the dilithium crystals, was channeled down the two power transfer conduits, heading for either warp nacelle. With the warp drive deactivated, the power was rerouted through the various systems of the ship, taking over the burden from the emergency generators.

* * * * * *

The shadowed vessel, seemingly dormant, awoke. Color appeared in the warp nacelles, the dark blue and muted red slowly brightening until it reflected off the nearby Spacedock wall. Along the sides, small windows lit as power raced along conduits, little rectangles of light scattered on the gray hull. The main deflector dish changed from black, to navy, moving carefully to light blue as more and more power coursed along the ship's veins. The _Intrepid_ slowly came to life.

* * * * * *

Richie released a breath he hadn't realized he had held as the normal bridge lights came on. All around him, the burr and chatter began, as systems were restored to full power. Somewhere deep inside the ship, but still able to penetrate his boots, the engines throbbed. A constant reminder when one was in space. _It's been a long time,_ Richie thought, watching his board light up.

The main viewscreen, dark for so long, came to life. _{Would you look at that...,}_ Pretar thought, drawing Richie's attention. The Immortal wasn't ready for what greeted him. The _Intrepid_ was positioned like she had been the night before, facing the lounge. Only today, it was packed full of people, all cheering and applauding. _{Is that...Admiral Hancock? And Dr. Brahms!}_

It was hard to make out faces until Richie magnified the scene. His eyes raked over several members of the design teams, even a few from the Utopia yard on Mars.All had come to see the ship and crew off. It was a very satisfying feeling. The Immortal was still smiling when the turbolift doors opened, disgorging a very irate Operations officer, at least by the tone of his voice. 

"Ah woulda been here sooner, but Ah hadta get out and push!" The very loud drawl of Lieutenant George Aston echoed on the bridge as he walked across the back, finally reaching the Ops station. Richie was almost tempted to turn around and smirk, but the possibility of minor violence deterred him. "Sparky, didja haveta cut power while Ah's in the blasted box?" 

Richie had never figured out how, exactly, he had picked up the nickname "Sparky." And nothing he did could change the Texan's mind. But then again, he never passed up an opportunity to harass the big guy, either. He was ready with a witty comeback, when the hail from engineering spared him the need to reply. 

***Engineering to Bridge. We're ready, Captain. Full impulse at your discretion.***

Pretar absently nodded. "Thank you, Commander. Bridge out. Mr. Ryan, get us going." With that weighty pronouncement, Captain Lorrict stood, strolling two steps to the exact center of the command platform, and waited. 

"Aye, aye," Richie replied. His hands flew over his console, activating navigation programs and the deflector protocols. "Thrusters to station keeping. Clear all moorings." Quickly, he signaled Spacedock control that the _Intrepid_ was underway. He silently began counting off the seconds until the space doors would be open enough for the ship. 

"Moorings are cleared," Aston called out, his drawl fading as he concentrated on his own duties. With no tactical officer, nor support personnel, he had double the workload. Luckily, it was only a six hour flight. "Activating navigational beacon and lights."

* * * * * *

Outside, as the thin mooring lines floated away from the ship, hazard lights flashed in concert. They set up a steady blinking on top and at landing area in the rear. Permanent red and green lights also blazoned from the back as the impulse generators flared to life. The cheer in the lounge immediately followed the main spotlight bursting on to the ship's designation: NCC-74600. The letters and numbers were painted on the forward hull around Deck Three.

With a brief flash, the impulse engines kicked into reverse for a second, enough to propel the ship away from the inner wall. Thrusters ignited, pushing the scoutship into a backward roll with a twist, aligning the bow with the retracting four space doors across the huge bay.

* * * * * * * *

As Richie's count closed on twenty, he pushed the thrusters to maximum, increasing their speed inside the complex. He could hear Aston's gasp of breath as the viewscreen showed the thin opening they were heading for. The Immortal never let up, his hand hovering over the impulse drive panel. When he hit twenty-five, he punched forward at full impulse, the hull barely clearing the lumbering doors. Then they were outside, racing away from orbit.

"Gawd dang," Aston exclaimed, once he recovered. Richie smiled, glad that he was able to push the envelope just a little. After all, he had a reputation to maintain. 

"If you don't get demoted again for your...little stunts," Pretar quietly added in his ear, startling the Immortal. Richie had been so engrossed in his little show, he had failed to notice the Betazoid moving in behind him. "Must you always play the daredevil?" 

Richie treated it as a rhetorical question, busying himself with the myriad of details a pilot had to worry about. "Course, Captain?" he asked diplomatically. As far as he was concerned, they could head for the Beta Quadrant now. 

_{Patience, oh wild one,}_ Pretar cautioned. "It might be nice to pay the folks at the Saturn flight range a quick flyby, and then once around the Solar system." Richie sneaked a glance behind as the Captain strolled back to his chair and sat. "After that, you can pretty much entertain yourself, Lieutenant." 

"Aye, aye," Richie called out. He selected the course and let his body relax. The better to enjoy a quick jaunt around the block. _How did that old show go? A three hour tour...._  


* * *

The _Intrepid_ floated in space, smoothly gliding along solely on impulse engines. Richie lazily remembered the days when lightspeed was a fast as anyone could go.

_Let's see...the_ Prosperity. The Immortal closed his eyes, mentally picturing himself with arms outstretched, as if he to was gliding along in space. Floating along, his weight held up by air pressure and dynamics, flying along....

> **_2009 A.D. -- Duncan's Island, Pacific Northwest, Earth_**
> 
> _...and calling out with a screeching voice. The bird skimmed over the lake surface, drawing Richie's attention. For a brief moment, he stopped paddling the canoe, watching the feathered creature beat its wings, slowly climbing into the morning sky. There was something peaceful about it, the thought of flying along without a care in the world._
> 
> _With a sigh, the Immortal went back to the oar, knowing the upcoming confrontation could not be put off any longer. Richie's time was running out. Not that he expected Duncan's blessing or anything, but it was something his friend deserved to hear first hand, not through Joe, or someone else._
> 
> _Quicker than he expected, Richie reached the island, a small parcel of sacred land that Duncan had built a cabin on. A safe haven that Richie had used many times. But now it seemed it would be his last battlefield. It only took a moment to secure the canoe. Then one final deep breath, and Richie climbed the hill._
> 
> _Just as the rise crested, the cabin came into view. Along with it, the unnerving dread rose from his stomach, the intimate feeling of another Immortal alerting him to Duncan's presence. He had only taken a few steps to the front when the curtains moved. By the time he reached the steps, the door was opening, an empty-handed Highlander waiting to greet him._
> 
> _"Richie," Duncan said, "this is a surprise." The shock was evident on his face, the same one Richie had first glimpsed over 25 years ago. "I thought you were in...Miami?"_
> 
> _"Tampa," Richie replied as he climbed the steps, holding a hand out to Duncan. "Yes, I was. Now I'm here." It took a second for the Highlander to react, grasping the younger Immortal's hand and pumping it. "It's not a problem, is it?"_
> 
> _Stepping back, Duncan ushered Richie into the main room. "No, not one bit. How would you have warned me, smoke signals?" Once out of the bright morning sun, he gave his former student a once-over. "Not staying, I see."_
> 
> _"I don't have much to say," Richie answered, knowing he was within an inch of blushing. He hated that he reacted this way, and that thought only made it worse. "Uh, can we talk?" The blond man fidgeted, looking around the room._
> 
> _The Highlander smiled, a knowing gleam in his eye. With paternal understanding, he grasped Richie's shoulder and directed him to the one sofa. "I take it I'm not going to like this." Once Richie was seated, Duncan moved in front of the fire, settling on the floor. "I guess I should have asked if you wanted something to drink, before I sat down."_
> 
> _Richie unconsciously looked over to the kitchen. "Maybe later," he said as he clasped his hands together to keep them still. "I have a job, Mac." He tried to look at Duncan, but found he couldn't. "It's...it's.... Oh, boy."_
> 
> _"You're racing motorcycles again," Duncan supplied. "You're selling used cars, and want to show me this little sports number to use around the island. No, wait, even better, you're managing a grunge band of pyromaniac women Scrooges called 'Sis-boom-bah'."_
> 
> _That brought a laugh to Richie's lips. The tension eased as he sat back, clutching his stomach when the giggles erupted. For a brief moment, it seemed like everything would be okay. They would be okay. All the worrying, all the vague unease had been for nothing. "No..." He gasped for breath, trying to regain some control. "I'm moving to the Moon. A mining colony."_
> 
> _Silence was the only reply. It took another second to focus his eyes, and to sit up on the sofa, but his first look at Duncan's face scared him. The Highlander showed no emotion, just stared at the floor in front of his booted feet. "The Moon," MacLeod quietly repeated, a small hint of a smile gracing the sides of his lips._
> 
> _"Yeah, they need a surface to orbit pilot, and it sounds kinda neat," Richie informed him. Even with a blazing fire, it suddenly felt chilly. All of Richie's worries came back full force. "This is what I want to do, Mac. I want to do something with my life."_
> 
> _Duncan looked up at Richie, his eyes wide and his face grim. "You can't just hide away from the Game. I've tried. It always finds you again." His hand reached out and grabbed Richie's arm, emphasizing his words. "Someone will challenge you, even on the Moon."_
> 
> _Richie jerked his arm away, not liking the contact. "That doesn't mean I have to play." His voice also took on an edge. "I want something better."_
> 
> _"You don't understand...," Duncan started, making Richie feel like a teenager again. The Highlander must have sensed the sudden stiffening, because his next words were softer. " You are an Immortal, Richie." He leaned in closer, trying to smile. "There can be only one. That's our life." _
> 
> _The younger man shook his head. "But it doesn't mean I have to do the weeding," he supplied in rebuttal. "I'm not going to turn into some crazed fighter...."_
> 
> _"Like me," Duncan supplied, finishing the sentence. His voice was tinged with resignation. As he stood, even his shoulders slumped. "That's what you think. You don't want to turn into me."_
> 
> "I never said that," Richie shot back, cringing at the half lie. It was one of the unvoiced reasons he had to get away. "I'm not cut out for this." 
> 
> _Duncan walked to the fire. "And I am?" He kept his back to Richie, staring into the flames instead. "Don't answer that. I'm putting words in your mouth and I know you hate that."_
> 
> _"You're Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," Richie said quietly. "A warrior. My teacher. And my best friend." He walked nearer to the fireplace. "That's your identity. Who you are. I'm just still searching for me."_
> 
> _The Highlander turned around, resting one arm on the mantel. "And you're going to the Moon to find it." He shook his head, glancing around the room. "You'll keep up the workouts."_
> 
> _Richie nodded, mentally relaxing at Duncan's small showing of acceptance. "As much as I can. I'll keep fit, and probably spend a lot of time with a staff. That'll be easier to explain than a sword." He laughed, his chuckle dying off when his stomach rumbled._
> 
> _"Let me guess," Duncan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "you didn't stop for supper on your way up here." He smiled as Richie's stomach growled again, some things never changing. "I'll see what I can rustle up."_
> 
> _Richie turned toward the kitchen, realizing it had gotten dark while the pair had been talking. "Mind if I stay the night?" he asked, glancing out the window at the sky. It was the black of night, a scattering of stars..._

...stretched across the viewscreen while they cruised at sub-light speeds. "Mr. Ryan," Pretar called again, finally drawing Richie's attention. "Time's up," the Betazoid continued once Richie had turned his head around. "Lay in a course for Earth."

"Earth it is," Richie answered, taking another glance at the stars, trying to shake off the ghosts of the past. Luckily, the voices and memories were done. For now.


	2. Chapter 2

George Aston looked at the long-range scanner display again. _Still there after five course corrections. And closin'._ With a sigh, he augmented the sensors in that direction, and brought up the defensive sub-menu. "Cap'n. We've sprouted a tail...." It didn't help the Texan's esteem when Mr. Ryan stifled a laugh. _Smarty-pants._

"A tail, Mr. Aston?" Captain Lorrict asked. He turned around in his chair. "Would you care to elaborate?" he added as he looked toward Ops. 

"We's got us a boogedy, sir," Aston reiterated. "Be'n trailen' us fer the last ten minets or so." Shaking his head, he augmented sensors again, the blurry shape of an Apollo-class starship taking form. Only one was listed in the sector. "It's'tha _Ajax_ , sir."

Pretar nodded, facing forward again. "Shake us loose, Mr. Ryan," he ordered, turning back to the readouts. 

Richie quickly glanced backward before replying. "Yes, sir," he called, deactivating the automatic pilot. His sudden activity with the navigational programs caused a demand for more resources, alerting Operations. Aston authorized it as he heard the blond mutter "...sprouted a tail...." It probably wasn't supposed to be audible at the back of the bridge, but one never knew. 

_Just 'cause Ah wasn't born ahun'erd years ago_ , Aston mentally grumbled, watching as the sensors began picking up another problem. Or lots of little problems. The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter's orbits. Which the _Intrepid_ was heading straight toward.

* * * * * * * *

"I know that," Richie spat, realizing he was arguing with an accursed computer program. Every thirty seconds it would beep, commenting that he was currently on a dangerous collision course with numerous large objects, and wouldn't he much rather just go around it, and looky here, a safe way to avoid the obstructions, and by pressing this large flashing button, the program would happily do it for him. Right away, in fact. No waiting. Press me now.

The system had originally been designed so that in an emergency, even a Pakled could navigate the ship. But what Richie had failed to do, much to his chagrin, was program a way to turn the blasted thing off. "SHUT UP!" he finally yelled after another beep. The program, whether by design or a fit of Murphism, cross-connected with the security systems, initiating a yellow alert and adding an auditory warning as well, just in case someone on board had an objection to meeting an asteroid belt at high speeds. 

***Warning. Collision course. Warning. Collision course....***

"Mr. Aston," Pretar called out, barely heard over the ruckus. The Texan's reply was drowned out by the noise, but within seconds, the siren and computer voice was silenced. The yellow lights turned red as the Ops officer initiated a full red alert, overriding the normal safety programs and allowing "irrational" commands. "Thank you," the Captain said on the now silent bridge. 

Richie shut off the navigational programs, knowing they couldn't keep up with the ever-changing situation, once they entered the Belt. Again, he told himself he could do this. With one eye on the _Ajax's_ location, he increased the _Intrepid's_ speed as they entered the outer fringe of asteroids. 

Sensors notified him the other ship was reducing speed to match him. The Apollo-class was similar in size to the _Intrepid_ , but it didn't possess the over-powered thruster package Richie had designed. The Immortal started turning the ship this way and that, fitting neatly into openings between the scattered rocks. Here on the outer edges, it was about as difficult as dodge ball. A challenge both ships handled with ease. 

Twisting the ship around, Richie kept heading farther inward, dumping impulse power when things started to get tight. All that extra energy was diverted to the inertial dampeners, the only thing that prevented the crew from being crushed in all the high-speed maneuvers. Using thrusters, he dove between two large asteroids that crashed into each other moments after they passed. _The other ship'd just have to go around._

"The _Ajax's_ slowin' down," Aston called out, most likely wishing they had installed seatbelts in the back stations. "We can probably head on outa here...." 

_Not on your life_ , Richie thought. Once again, he turned into the field, the asteroids becoming smaller and more dense. The sensors finally overloaded, unable to map the numerous chunks, all with various speeds and trajectories. "Damn." 

Placing his hands on the thruster controls, he took two quick breaths and closed his eyes, slipping into a meditative trance. Vaguely, he could feel Pretar join with him on a mental level, passively doing nothing. Remembering long-unused techniques, the Immortal pushed his awareness outward, into space. Once past the ship's confines, he started cataloging the bits and pieces moving about him, a part of his mind noting the vectors. In between these shimmering lines, he weaved the _Intrepid_ through. 

There came a point when several lines converged, the ship being slowly enveloped as it flew into what would become a solid mass of rocks. Richie panicked, almost losing the trance. He mentally looked around and realized even the uprated thrusters couldn't save them. _Damn_. 

Lines of pulsating energy appeared from around him, zooming toward the mass. Two of the vectors winked out, the asteroids they represented destroyed by phaser fire. _I owe you_ , Richie added to a wave of relief he felt. The ship easily fit into the holes created, weaving through the abundance of rock. 

_{Thank George,}_ Pretar replied on the fringes of Richie's consciousness. _{But later,}_ he hastily added. 

Once past the obstruction, things began to ease up. Feeling surer of himself, Richie upped the speed, taking long curves between the asteroids, a giddy feeling of satisfaction augmenting the gracefulness of flight. Just on the edge of his senses, he "felt" the _Ajax_ , and the awe being projected by their bridge crew. _Good, let them spread this around._

As the asteroids numbered less and less, the Immortal could spend more time on fancier maneuvers. It was like an intricate ballet, each piece moving in harmony with each other. He was the powerful male, leaping and diving around the many ballerinas flittering about. He knew he was physically laughing, but the joy was so much more in this trance-state. He almost didn't want to end. He could just turn around and.... 

_{We are not going back in there,}_ Captain Lorrict intruded as he gently untangled himself from the bond with Richie. _{That's an order.}_

Richie wanted to argue. He couldn't help it, or even stop that momentary feeling from traveling to Pretar. But it was immediately followed by a flash of regret, and the grudging admission his commanding officer was right. It was time to return to the physical. 

Slowly, checking one last time that all the obstacles were past, he slowly collapsed his expanded consciousness, shutting off the extra senses he had been using. It felt like he was cutting off a hand, or blinding one of his eyes. There was a brief pang of loss, then once again the normal senses took over, reminding him of the centuries he had existed before his latent skills had been activated. He had lived then, and will now.

"Welcome back," Pretar said, once Richie began to shuffle in his seat. "Fancy flying, hotshot." 

Richie grinned, activating the automatic pilot and turning around. "You did say lose them," he remarked, adding a shrug. Bridge lights returned to normal as Aston ended the red alert. _Aston._ "George, thanks. We were about to be toast." 

"Sew Ah noticed," the Texan drawled, busy at his own station. "Yer welcome, Rich." The Immortal nodded, turning back to the viewscreen. "Nice moves," George added, almost as an afterthought.

That got a chuckle from Richie. "I aim to please...," he started.

"So please aim...us for home," Pretar finished. "It looks like our time is definitely up, gentlemen. Mr. Aston, find us a nice parking orbit, will you? Away from any asteroid belts." 

Double "aye, ayes" sounded in stereo, the three men immersing themselves in their respective tasks. Just another day in space.

* * *

Benny Haven's Tavern, one of the many bars in Spacedock, was named for an institution from the past, an establishment very near the old West Point Academy in North America. Since the Borg invasion, it had become the unofficial watering hole of crews returning from their first flight, be it crews from new ships, or raw cadets after their first tour of duty. Tonight, it served as location for the _Intrepid_ party, a much more down to Earth affair than the reception the previous night. 

There were no ambassadors or admirals. The music was loud, the alcohol real, the air hazy and dark. A perfect place to let your hair down. Or whatever an individual had. 

"So there I was, heading for the Asteroid Belt,..." Richie was saying to a seemingly engrossed Laura Benteen at the bar. The Immortal had been very surprised to see her here tonight, but then again, things had gone rather well the night before. "...and I'm saying to myself, 'Self, you can do this,' and then...." 

"Let's dance," Laura suddenly said, setting her drink on the bar. With a grin, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. The Immortal acquiesced with a sigh, intent on having a good time. At least, that was the plan until Sonya cut in. And during a slow song, at that.

"She's Dr. Brahms' sister, you know," the engineer said once Laura was out of earshot. She grinned at Richie's look of shock. "I thought I'd better warn you. It probably wouldn't be wise going home with her tonight, they share a house when they're on Earth. And from what I witnessed last time, you don't want to be caught by Leah with your pants down again." 

Richie looked down at the Latino woman in his arms, adding a cocky smile. "You wouldn't happen to have a personal interest in who I go home with tonight, now do you?" It was a long shot for Sonya to change her mind, but miracles still happened. 

"The way you've been hitting the bar, I think you'll be going home tonight. Alone." She smiled back, with a glint in her eye. "Although you might invite me over one night to use the jacuzzi." 

Richie smiled, pressing close. "Tonight?" he asked in full puppy-dog mode. 

Sonya laughed. "I have to go over the engine logs before tomorrow's debriefing. Make it one night next week. With suits, this time."

"Darn, you spoil all my fun." The Immortal tried a dip, but in his inebriated state, it turned more into a spin and stumble. "Oops, better augment my stabilizers." 

"Don't look now," Sonya whispered, "but you may have lucked out after all." 

The engineer suddenly disappeared from Richie's arms, only to be replaced by another soft feminine body. "Miss me, Richard?" Laura Benteen asked. "Why don't we blow this party? Give me five minutes to grab an overnight bag and I'll meet you at the transporter station on Level Twelve." Again his arms were empty. "You did mention a jacuzzi, didn't you?" her unseen voice whispered in his ear. Then she was gone, and Richie was alone in the middle of the dance floor, arms still outstretched.

It took a moment to wander back to the bar in his befuddled state. Pretar appeared out of nowhere, instantly sizing up the situation. "Barkeep," he called out. "Coffee, black, and a hangover pill, strong." Seconds later, the two requested items were in front of the pair. "Take this," the Betazoid insisted, pushing the pill into Richie's mouth. "And this," he added, bringing the cup of strong coffee to the Immortal's lips. _{Next time, stick with synthehol. And remember to shield,}_ he mentally added, not wanting to yell over the noise. _{Or I will beam right in and muck up everything.}_

"Uh, huh," Richie managed to say as the medication began to take effect and Pretar pushed him toward the exit. "Thanks." Before he got the word out, he was in the corridor, alone, and beginning to feel much better.

* * * * * * * *

"So thar Ah wus, watchin' them asteroids gettin' closer,..." George Aston was saying, unaware his audience of two wasn't listening. "And Ah's sayin' 'Self,'...." The two men rolled their eyes, reaching again for their drinks. One was of medium height, a dark haired Greek by birth. The other was shorter, a black haired Asian.

Out of politeness, the taller of the duo coughed, loud enough to draw George's attention. "So, did you talk to Captain Lorrict yet?" he asked, the eagerness palatable on his face. Both wore the new gray jumpsuits of Academy cadets, two bars on each collar. 

"Now, Dannikins, it's not a shore thang, you understand," George replied, grasping Daniel Bird on the shoulder. When his best friend's younger brother had approached him over a month ago, to see if the pair might be assigned for the shakedown cruise, George had promised to talk to the Captain. Most cadets spent their summer break visiting their family, or traveling to other parts of the galaxy. But a lucky few got to intern on Starfleet ships, and this year, an _Intrepid_ slot was the choice spot. 

"Harry, too?" Danny added, dragging his friend and roommate into the conversation. The Asian flushed, not used to such dubious routes to get things done. That amused George even more. 

The Texan finally gave in, glad to give the two good news. "Shore 'nuff. You's both got whoppin' grades. Cadet Kim's in with Sonya, and yer one of the night operations officers." It took both of George's large hands to restrain the two cadets. "Now, don't go shoutin' the news. It won't be 'ficial 'til next week. Until then, keep yer trap shut."

The two snapped to attention and saluted, wide grins breaking out on their face. "Now, git. Before you catch trouble for breakin' curfew." He couldn't help wondering if he had been as excited when he was in the Academy. _Probably not._

* * * * * * * *

The two cadets were hollering as they barreled down the corridor. Richie dove to the side to let them pass. He stayed against the wall a moment while his head spun. _Maybe I did have too much. God, why did he have to shove one of those nasty pills down my throat?_

He was almost ready to continue his hunt for the turbolifts when the harsh voice assailed him from a side hallway. "So, Mr. Ryan, I understand congratulations are in order." It was a deep baritone, the consonants over accented. The vowels barreled in the hall, due in part to an oversized oral cavity, the better to hold a mouthful of sharp teeth. In short, Klingon.

"So it appears," Richie replied as he carefully turned around, the voice already identified. "Ambassador K'talok," 

The warrior-turned-politician chuckled, aware of the tenseness in the air. "It is so good that you use your...abilities in such a peaceful pursuit," the Klingon added. "Might you show me around?"

Richie ground his teeth. "You'd have to talk to someone in Command about that. I'm just a lowly lieutenant." His hands were clenched at his side. 

"So it would appear," the Klingon threw back at him, nodding in return. "But then again, your appearance can be very deceiving,...so I've heard. I understand you'll be conducting the warp drive tests next month. Braslota, I believe?" Hearing the supposedly confidential details from a Klingon spy infuriated Richie. K'talok bared his teeth as he watched the Starfleet officer's face flush. "I'll take that as a yes. For once, Mr. Ryan, it's been a pleasure. pIweblu'taH!"With another chuckle, the ambassador turned and left. 

_Up yours,_ Richie mentally finished. _Where does that battle ship get off calling me a disgrace?_ Still fuming, head pounding, the Immortal stormed off to find Laura. The jacuzzi was looking better each second.

* * *

The last box sat on the end table, the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle Richie had been assembling all morning. Actually, all week. Slowly, but surely, his luggage had been amassed. That waited in the foyer, almost complete, the last empty hole gnawing at Richie. The cube seemed out of place here in his San Francisco home. _House,_ he mentally corrected. Ever since the _Intrepid's_ launch three weeks ago, he had tried to force himself to think of the starship as home. It just wasn't working. 

He hated packing. More than anything else, it emphasized his inability to stay in any one place for long. It was an activity he could never really escape from. Even before he became Immortal, he started to detest it. Packing meant losing the few friends he had managed to make, angry at the relief others felt with his departure. Then suddenly, he would be somewhere else, alone, unwanted. That had been his life. 

This time wasn't so bad. He was keeping the house, and only had room for a few of the more special items on board the ship. But still he had ended up with a cube about two meters square. And that didn't count any clothes, which were stored on a isolinear chip until being transferred into the replicator's memory. Sometimes, he wished for a fire or other disaster, to wipe out all the items, all the memories, and let him start over. _Fat chance._

Richie walked into the den and over to the wall monitor, activating a channel to the _Intrepid_. "Ryan to Transporter Room Two. My luggage is ready to be beamed aboard." 

***Yes, sir. Prepare for transport.***

The sharp whine during dematerialization filled the empty foyer, then faded, taking with it the bulky cube. That project out of the way, Richie moved on to the next item on his list. Securing the house. As he looked at the padd he had picked up, a curious sense of déjà vu passed over him, strengthened when the monitor beeped, alerting him to an incoming communication. Confused, he turned to the wall...

> **_2346 A.D. -- San Francisco, Earth_**
> 
> _...watching as the image of his legal ward filled the screen. "Jack! What a surprise. Where are you?" His question seemed a bit redundant with the background clearly belonging to the_ USS Horatio _. Specifically, Jack's cabin._
> 
> _"Somewhere between the Surata system and Starbase 65," Ensign Jack Crusher replied. "Now that the pleasantries are aside, what do you think you're doing?" The young man tried to look irritated, but failed miserably._
> 
> _Richie tried not to laugh. "Now that you're out of the house, well...." The Immortal lost control at Jack's astonished look, lapsing into a snicker. "Sorry. I simply need a change of pace. And how did you find out? I only got the word yesterday!"_
> 
> _"Only you would call the Klingon Homeworld a 'simple change of pace'! Not enough evil Immortals around for you?" For all the joking, Jack looked concerned. He had met a few, unfortunately with a violent thirst for power. "You think Klingons will be any better?"_
> 
> _Richie shook his head. "Much. I'll only have to worry about fresh air. With Immortals...." He shrugged. "You still haven't answered my question."_
> 
> _Jack rolled his eyes. Even though he had become Richie's responsibility late in the mortal's childhood, it was difficult not to play father and son. "I've had a few talks where your name has come up, and so the Captain passed on the news." Now the ensign almost blushed. "Were you going to tell me?"_
> 
> _A twitch of guilt stabbed at Richie. "Of course. But the approval came suddenly, and you can see, it's been a whirlwind here." To emphasis the point, he motioned at the mess behind him in the living room. Boxes were strewn everywhere, and only the heavy furniture was still in its normal place. Clothes were piled all over._
> 
> _"But you've been thinking about it for a while, haven't you," Jack continued, knowing an evasion. "It is something you want."_
> 
> _"Yes," Richie started, when the com panel beeped, signaling another call. Very long distance, if Richie read the coordinates right. "Look, someone else is trying to get through. I was planning to catch you on the trip out, so let's go ahead and plan, say, two days. Same time?" The panel beeped again as a reminder of the other call._
> 
> _The young ensign smiled, already scheduling the free time. "Forty-eight hours. I've started a timer." Jack pointed at Richie as he warned him, another brief smile as the contact ended. Almost immediately, the Starfleet banner appeared, the other call patching through._
> 
> _The face that graced the screen was very familiar, and yet subtly different, as if the mental picture had mutated over time. Physically, Duncan MacLeod's face would never change._
> 
> _"Mac." The word felt so strange on Richie's lips. He knew his face betrayed his shock, because Duncan's expression grew grim. It was as if two people who had pointedly been ignoring each other across a crowded room suddenly found themselves face to face, trapped in a corner. Forced to deal with each other._
> 
> _"Richie," Duncan breathed. It seemed like an eternity passed between the word, and the Highlander's blink. Then time returned to normal, at least for Richie. "I didn't think you'd answer.... Uh, hi."_
> 
> _Richie tried to turn off the monitor, but his hand wouldn't obey his mental command. Nothing seemed to work: his arm, his voice, his legs. He was at a loss, caught unprepared. "It's...good to see you."_
> 
> _Duncan look thoughtful, concern etched on his face. "I hear you're changing jobs," he quietly said._
> 
> _"Did everybody in the galaxy find out overnight what I'm doing?" The sudden anger broke through the icy grip that held him. "Is there a little old lady with a blue tattoo, locked away in the basement, who's sole job is to alert a few million people about my employment status?" In disgust, the younger Immortal cleaned off a spot on the sofa, sitting down._
> 
> _The Highlander got angry. "Come on, Rich. It's a big deal when you toss out your cushy teaching job for an all-expense paid trip to Klingon central. And it was a pushy bureaucrat at the Diplomatic Corps who called me. Wanted to know what I thought about you. I told him you never lost your head. Or at least, not yet." He added special emphasis to the last word._
> 
> _Richie tried to ignore the dig. "Please don't tell me you called to argue. Please." The Highlander shrugged. "Oh, god. I knew I shouldn't list you as a reference."_
> 
> _"I still have a little pull over there. I did work for them for...forty years?" Duncan quickly did the math. "Forty-two. They said you wanted the posting really bad. I told them you'd do a good, thorough job. And you will. Rich...I want this to work out for you."_
> 
> _"I appreciate it." Richie's sentiment wasn't fake. There were still a lot of feelings for MacLeod, begging that the rift between them be healed. He opened his mouth to add something else, but stopped. It always began this way, a rosy sense of contentment and closeness, that would slowly turn into a fight. Verbal or physical._
> 
> _Unfortunately, the Highlander was still very perceptive, where his old student was concerned. "You don't seem very excited. Second thoughts?" Duncan's voice took on that older, concerned tone. Softer, more emotional, and straight from the heart. It always cut right through Richie's defenses._
> 
> _The younger Immortal frowned. "I needed a change. Something really different. I thought this was it, but now...." He looked at the screen for help, but Duncan just waited, patiently. It wasn't like time affected them at all. "I have no pressing responsibilities. Teaching has gotten...boring. It seemed a good idea. A strong background as a strategist, patience, a deep belief in peace. It sang to me, Mac."_
> 
> _Duncan nodded. "You felt the same way about racing, I recall. And you did very well at that."_
> 
> _"For a bit. But, I mean, Klingons," Richie snorted as he started to pace. As if that one word explained everything. "I really thought I had made up my mind. But now that it's happening, I'm.... I'm...." He stopped, placing a hand to his forehead as he tried to work through the feelings. "I'm not sure why I'm going. It's the other side of the galaxy, among people...Klingons...shit!"_
> 
> _From behind closed, frustrated eyes, he heard Duncan. "Klingons, Vulcans, French women. It's always something. Every time you leave your comfortable little nest, you...worry. You're doing it now. But you'll be fine. Just like always."_
> 
> _Sometimes, Richie wanted to scream at how well this man knew him. After all the years. And more often than not, be right. He hated Duncan for that, being maddeningly right. Sometimes he wondered if he really was three, almost four centuries old, and still unable to swallow advice. His advice. Duncan didn't offer it to belittle him, in fact was trying to save Richie the pain the Highlander had been forced to experience. Wasn't that a facet of love, trying to spare them the pain? Didn't he cut MacLeod completely out of his life because of love? "Mac.... I.... Thanks."_
> 
> _"You're always welcome." Duncan cleared his throat, his voice developing an emotional tone. "I've missed you...."_
> 
> _"Please," Richie interrupted. "Please, don't." He rubbed his eyes before opening them, the screen blurry as he focused. Or was it tears? "I'm too tired to start. Just let it end like this. Please?"_
> 
> _The Highlander looked disappointed, but nodded anyway. "Luck, Rich." And then he was gone, the screen fading to black. But the floodgates had been opened. Both the calm assurance, and the ache of their separation mixed together, forming a bittersweet mood._
> 
> _"Mac," Richie whispered to the empty wall. Gratitude filled his heart as he remembered the good times. The happy times. And the hope that there might someday be more. But all he saw was the sword slicing into the neck, over and over and...._

"Richard? RICHARD!!" The female voice was almost at a yell when the Immortal opened his eyes, the panicked face of Dr. Beverly Crusher filling the wall screen. "Answer me!" More concerned than angry, she took a breath of relief when he responded. "Took you long enough."

The Immortal shyly grinned. "Sorry, I was...lost in thought."

Beverly fixed her steely gaze on him. "You were having a particularly long flashback, weren't you?" Dr. Crusher was one of the few people who knew everything about Richard Ryan, Immortal. It also didn't help he was her father-in-law, in a weird sort of way. 

"Yes," he guiltily answered. "One of Jack's calls, in fact." That sobered her up. "So, you probably called to offer your congratulations," he supplied, adding a wide grin. 

Mock disgust graced her face. "Actually, I have several things to bring up. One, did you find anything for my next production?" As the good doctor talked, she moved a finger in turn, accenting her points. "Two, what did you think about Dr. Reyga's theories? Three, did you stop by and see Wesley yet? Four,...." 

Richie held up a hand to stop her. "Whoa, Nelly. Let me catch up." The Immortal walked to a side table, digging through a small stack of papers. "Uh, first, I found a play. Should be perfect if you want something different than 'Cyrano' this time out." He was very familiar with her love of theater. 

"Sounds interesting," she cautiously replied, twisting in her office chair aboard the _Enterprise_. Richie was not known for his literary tastes. "Did you manage to get a title?" 

"'Before the Dawn.' Really, Bev, why don't you write something yourself?" The good doctor gave him an exasperated stare. Richie picked up another paper before he continued. "Maybe not. As for Dr. Reyga.... A Ferengi scientist? Come on. Not to say his theories on metaphasic shielding isn't interesting, but I'm not a subspace specialist. Heck if I know. Have you tried it outside of these simulations? Actually flown into a star's corona?" 

Dr. Crusher shook her head, her red hair following along. "Not yet. He's performed a few tests himself, but for any substantiation, no. I'm thinking about seeing if anyone else in the scientific community is interested. So, have you spoken to Wesley yet?" 

It was Richie's turn to shake his head. "Not yet. I have to go over to the Academy today anyway, and I was timing it to get there at supper. Being an old faculty member should get me a free meal." 

"That it should," Beverly gleefully agreed. "Oh, I talked to Dr. Simmons the other day," she added, bringing up the _Intrepid's_ Chief Medical Officer. "Those ideas I started when I was head of Medical? Well, Simmons tested them the other day, and all the medical emergency programs came through with flying colors. Your ship is the first to have them." 

"Really, Bev. Emergency ghost doctors?" Richie hadn't been to thrilled at the supplemental equipment, but had been overruled by Captain Lorrict. _But as Petey said, when we're all alone in deep space, every bit will help._ He held up a hand to forestall Dr. Crusher's arguments. "Let's just say I haven't made up my mind, and I'll let you know how well they work in real situations. Deal?" 

She scowled at him. "I guess that's the best I can hope for. Stubborn!"

"Idealist," he fired back. 

"Narrow-minded!" 

"Romantic!" 

"You...you...archaic, obstinate,..." she stuttered. 

Richie held up his hands in surrender. "I give! No more!" They both had a good laugh. "I'll let you get in the last word, this time." 

"You know," Beverly said, switching subjects. "It's been a long time since I've seen you this happy, Richard. It's nice." Her tone was relieved, not mocking as it had been seconds ago. "Jack would have been proud." 

Richie finally blushed. "Thanks. You all were right about getting me out of my funk." That conversation had been much less civil than this one. _But once they got me to feel angry, that let loose a lot of other feelings. Some that had died with Jack, and I didn't even realize._ "I'd have done anything to have Wesley along on this trip, you know." His mouth was graced with a wry smile as Beverly nodded on the screen. "But with the accident and Josh's death last year...." He trailed off, not wanting to bring up the touchy subject. "There was no way to give him a slot with so many others...." He stopped, unable to find a way to continue the train of conversation that wouldn't bring back feelings of disappointment. The Immortal did not need to show up around Wesley with those feelings still inside. 

"I understand," Beverly replied. From off-screen a nurse appeared, handing the doctor a tricorder. She looked it over quickly, her face turning from sad to grim. "I hate to end it on this note, but a patient just took a turn for the worse. Call me later?" 

Richie smiled. "Of course. Give us a few days to get everything tuned on the ship, and I'll track you down. You're not going anywhere, are you?" 

"Not for a few days," she said, standing. "We've had a bad couple of weeks, so there's a ship-wide R&R in effect. Take care." She leaned over the desk, reaching out and shutting off the channel, plunging the wall screen to black. 

With a sigh, Richie turned off power to the monitor, then activated the security programs for the house and grounds. With another look around the room, he began his preparations to depart. His eyes came to rest on the Toledo rapier hung over the mantel. His sword, the physical symbol of his Immortality, that he had used against so many opponents. But that had been a long time ago. Now it was displayed in a place of honor, gathering dust. It was the symbol of his commitment never to battle another Immortal again....

> _The sword was already in motion toward the unprotected neck. One hand pinned, the other too far away to block the stroke. Richie mentally cried out, unable to stop the blow himself. The energy had already been transformed into momentum, and he had none left to counteract it. It was happening, just like he had imagined. The look in the other Immortal's eyes was beyond words. It cut straight to Richie's heart and ripped it to shreds. This was what he had feared for so many years. It was always his fault. It had always been...._

* * *

A long time ago, when Richie was still teaching at the Academy, he would sometimes find peace by walking in the Academy gardens. Lush plant life, nurtured by San Francisco's weather, flourished. Several rare Earth species as well as other flowers from around the galaxy were planted along winding paths. As the sun set, and a cool breeze blew off the ocean, Richie would unwind from the rigors of academia. 

Since joining the _Intrepid_ project, he had rarely had the desire to visit. It just wasn't the same. Students who passed wouldn't call out his name, no celebrations ever swept him along. He was an outsider now.

Richie paused, knowing without a doubt the man he was looking for was around the bend. Another Immortal, working in the gardens. A few more steps, and the old man came into sight, bent over a delicate gardenia in bloom. "Boothby," he called. 

The old man finished his work, struggling to his feet. Richie knew better than to offer any help. The other would stand in his own sweet time. The white haired fellow turned, nodding as if he had already guessed the identity of his visitor. "Professor Ryan. I guess that should be Lieutenant Ryan, now." 

Mr. Ryan also learned a long time ago that the word "Richie" would never pass the caretaker's lips. He was strange that way, addressing everyone else as a superior. Richie had once tried to ferret out the story of Boothby's early years, to find some clue why he was satisfied to live forever on Holy Ground, tending plants and cadets alike. 

"Yeah. It's been a while since I was a professor." It seemed useless to point out a decade had passed. Time had an unusual way of not affecting Boothby. More than any other Immortal. "I ship out tomorrow, and I was wondering...." 

"...if I'd have a few cadets keep an eye on your house. Leaving again, I see." The old man peered intently at Richie, looking not so much at him, but through him. "Still haven't found what you're searching for." 

That surprised Richie. In all their many, many conversations, nothing so oracular had Boothby ever uttered. And now this. "Excuse me?" Richie asked. 

"Hmmm." Boothby scowled and looked again, even deeper this time. His stare bothered Richie. "Don't even know that you are searching. It seems the teacher needs the teaching." He waved off a reply when Richie opened his mouth. "But that lesson's for another day. Hand me the codes." The old man held out a withered hand, grasping at the data chip Richie offered. 

"Now you're confusing me," Richie interjected. "Anything else?" 

Boothby pointed at the gardenias growing nearby. "If you haven't gone up and said goodbye Joe yet, take him some of those. I know a few fourth year cadets who'd appreciate a night away from the Academy, in exchange for a little housework. She'll be waiting for you when you return. Your house, I mean." 

To Richie, it had always been the perfect solution to his housesitting problem. He had done much the same for Duncan, many years ago. "You know what they're serving tonight?" 

"Stew and a casserole, I believe. Off to see Mr. Crusher?" The look on Boothby's face as he said the last two words begged for explanation.

"Spill," Richie urged. 

The gardener shook his head sadly. "He's still one of the best this place has seen for quite a few years. But something's off kilter. His grades are fluctuating, and his mood is sour." The old man huffed. "And he almost crushed my prize roses." 

"I'll see what I can find out. You'll keep an eye on him, though. For me?" Richie smiled when he got a grudging nod from Boothby. "Thanks for the flowers, I'll stop on my way back and pick them. Goodbye, Boothby."

The old man grunted, not offering a hand. "Fair sailing, Mr. Ryan." And then the meeting was over. The old man turned and walked up the path, away from the main buildings, the opposite direction Richie would have to go. 

_Class dismissed_ , Richie thought.

* * *

"So, it's all done, Joe," Richie said, holding out the flowers. "Boothby wanted me to bring you these." Gently, almost reverently, the Immortal placed them next to the headstone. Every few years, Richie tried to visit Washington State, and spend some time with Joe. Foolish, he knew. But it made him feel better. Talking to Joe had always made him feel better. "The ship looks great. Everything is falling into place, with not a hint of trouble. We start our shakedown cruise tomorrow, so I'm here to say goodbye for a while." 

Richie knelt on his haunches, talking about anything and everything Joe might have been interested in. Wesley, Pretar, how the sunset had looked just thirty minutes ago as he walked from the Seacouver public transporter. His knees finally started to ache, and that was usually his cue to wind down, and say a few parting words. He never knew if anything came from his visits, except for his peace of mind. 

"I've been thinking about calling Duncan," Richie finally admitted. He rubbed his hands together, surprised to find them sweaty. A quick wipe on his pants solved that problem. _Now if MacLeod would be so easy._ "I don't know why, but I never get as far as turning on a monitor. Nerves, I guess. What would I say? How could I explain, when we can barely talk?" His mouth was suddenly dry. He coughed when he tried to swallow. "What would he say? That's what worries me. 'That's fine, Rich, you can go ahead and try.' Like all he needs is another friend after his head..."

> **_2012 A.D. - Joe's Bar, Earth_**
> 
> _Richie felt, rather than saw, the Immortal approach. He tensed at the warning; there were several of his kind that ended up at Joe's. Even after the elderly Watcher retired, MacLeod and his network of friends still stopped by. It had been almost a home for many of them. So instead of grabbing for his sword and screaming a challenge, the Immortal sipped his drink, and watched the entrance._
> 
> _As luck would have it, or not in Richie's opinion, it was the Highlander himself that burst through the double doors. Too late for Richie to sneak out, or hide. He was trapped._
> 
> _Duncan found him after a quick scan of the tables near the stage. The Highlander nodded at Mike for his usual, and then proceeded to Richie's seat with the drink. "Get in trouble on the Moon?" the Scot asked in a husky voice. He nodded over at the pile of duffel bags that sat on the floor next to the younger Immortal._
> 
> _"Hi, Rich, good to see you," Richie said in a fair approximation of MacLeod's accent. "Gee, Mac, it's nice to see you!" he answered in a chipper version of his own voice. Back and forth he traded off. "How's it going, tough guy? Fine, Mac, and how's your life? The same -- in town for long? I don't know, Mac, you gonna ask me to stay? Sure, Rich, my casa is Sue's casa."_
> 
> _The scowl that slowly bent Duncan's lip grew harsher with each passing word of sarcasm. His eyes flashed in anger. "What happened?" he asked in a clenched voice. He wanted a straight answer. Now. Just like always._
> 
> _The drink in Richie's hand suddenly became very interesting. "I died, Mac. Happy?" One quick gulp and all the gin was gone. The empty glass thumped as it hit the table. "Actually, the problem was I revived in front of the entire colony. After they all saw my vacuum packed corpse. So I left."_
> 
> _"Rich!" Duncan was livid. "How in the...."_
> 
> _The younger Immortal slammed the glass onto the table again as he got to his feet. "Can it! I don't need another lecture on how I screwed up, or what Duncan the Infallible would have done, or anything!"_
> 
> _Richie paused to take a breath and noticed the bar was silent. All the patrons were frozen, watching the pair by the stage. With a wave, he signaled the waitress for another drink. He sat back down, staring again at his empty glass. "It wasn't like I had a choice when I woke up, Mac. I opened my eyes and they were all staring at me like I was a monster." It was a sight he would never be able to forget. His voice trembled, something that only rarely happened. He was grateful when the fresh drink arrived._
> 
> _"So what are you going to do?"_
> 
> _Duncan's question was one he had asked himself over and over on the shuttle flight down. "I'm spending a few days with Joe and his kids, play 'Uncle Richie' for a bit. Then after that...who knows?"_
> 
> _The Highlander finished off his drink and set the empty glass on the table. "You're welcome to come over and spar sometime...."_
> 
> _"Your kind of 'help' I don't need, Mac," Richie interrupted. Duncan opened his mouth, but the younger Immortal cut him off. "I know you mean well, but you'll go into teacher mode and harp nonstop."_
> 
> _There was a brief flash of hurt in Duncan's eyes before he looked away. "I guess I would. Come by for just a visit then. I'll try not to 'harp'." He grabbed his empty glass and turned away toward the bar._
> 
> _"Mac," Richie called, stopping him. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm still on edge from the trip, and everything." The Highlander glanced back, waiting. "I'll call you in a couple of days. Maybe we could go see a film or something. One with subtitles so you can follow along."_
> 
> _A small smile briefly crossed Duncan's lips. "I'd like that. I...." The Scot stopped, his face clearly showing the conflict he felt inside, of wanting to express himself and the incapability of doing so. "David Keogh came back and challenged me."_
> 
> _Richie had seen the Highlander go through this many times, each one as painful as the one before. Duncan looked at him with sad eyes, hoping for a response. The young Immortal shrugged. "You want me to say I'm sorry? I knew he was your friend, Mac, but he was after your head. You defended yourself."_
> 
> _The Scot sadly shook his head and looked at the bar. "Doesn't make me feel any better, Rich. He was a part of my life and I..." Duncan stopped again, and Richie knew that he was seeing another dark night, in the dojo. Another friend waiting for death, and the satisfaction of killing. Even after the Dark Quickening was over, the Highlander still felt some of that gratification. He never said so, but Richie saw it in his face. That made it even worse for him, the killing._
> 
> _"Mac, why don't I come over for supper tomorrow night? A bottle of wine, some Italian pasta...."_
> 
> _The smile that was on Duncan's lips said more then he ever could vocalize. "That would be nice," he quietly added. "Welcome home, Rich."_
> 
> _"Thanks, Mac." The young Immortal watched his old teacher walk out of the bar as Joe finally came over._
> 
> _The Watcher shook his head. "Same song, seventeenth verse. It's always the same. Can't you two be together more than ten minutes without fighting? Rich? Richie?"_

_{Richie? Can you hear me? This is Pretar.}_

As if the mental voice in Richie's head could belong to anyone else. _I'm here._ The Immortal was surprised to find his hands shaking. With an audible groan, he slowly rose to his feet, numb legs stretching.

A little of the pain leaked over the link. _{Ouch! I was wondering if you were beaming up tonight, or in the morning. We have things to go over. And you were saying something about a bridge officers' meeting?}_

Reality intruded on Richie's lament. _That's right. Uh, I'm not anywhere near a communicator at the moment. Can you get someone to home in on me and beam me up right now? I'm at Joe's grave._ Just thinking those two words made Richie shiver. 

_{Not going to throw yourself off a cliff again, are you? Give us a moment. I know where it is, but we'll have to scan for your lifesign. Pretar out.}_

Though there was really no need, the Betazoid had the habit of treating their mental communications like a communicator, or even audible speech. But it was so much more. Emotions, sometimes visuals transferred as well. Especially when the emotions ran high. Like the time Richie had depressed himself so much, he flung himself of the nearby cliff. _Fat lot of good that did._ His ears picked up the whispered whine as the targeting scanners locked on him. 

"Goodbye, Joe," he said. "I wish you could go with me. But I know wherever you are, you're still watching." And then Joe, the grave, the cemetery, all faded away.

> **_2346 A.D. -- Earth Orbit_ **
> 
> _Richie's first sight of the_ Intrepid _was the small transporter room. Opposite the platform was the technician's station. And behind that was a humanoid in a maroon Starfleet uniform. The Immortal was about to step off, when the doors opened, and another person entered, obviously in a hurry._
> 
> _"I'm so sorry," the man said in a thick accent. "I just got assigned to help you moments ago. I'm Sergey Rozhenko, chief petty officer." With a wide grin, he approached and held out his hand. "Welcome aboard the_ Intrepid. _Is this all your luggage?"_
> 
> _Richie shook hands, then reached around to grab his one bag. "Thanks. I travel light. So what's the plan?"_
> 
> _"Let me carry that," Sergey insisted, grasping the bag's strap. "First, I'm to show you to your quarters. You won't have much time to freshen up, because the reception is already going on. I'm to show you to that, and then you're on your own."_
> 
> _Surrendering the bag, Richie followed Sergey out the door and into the corridors, mentally visualizing the plans for the Ambassador-class vessels. He was about to remark on their location when Sergey cut in. "I'm sorry we're having to put you with the Engineering staff. Such a late addition. There wasn't any time to reshuffle rooms. I hope it won't be too much of an inconvenience. We can..."_
> 
> _"It's fine," Richie interrupted. That explained why they were heading away from the guest quarters. This whole assignment was starting off on the wrong foot. "At least it will be out of the way of the other diplomats. I might actually have some peace."_
> 
> _Sergey smiled. "There is that. Ah, here it is." With a wave, he motioned toward a door. It really was very out of the way, almost a stone's throw from Engineering. "It's rather small, usually for overhaul consultants." It was tiny, compared to the usual guest accommodations. Even though the Ambassador-class was one of the largest in Starfleet, there were still some personnel who got cramped living arrangements. "The nice part is, I'm right down the hall." With another wave, he pointed out his door._
> 
> _"That will be nice," Richie agreed. "Let me throw some water on my face, and change my shirt. Reception, you say?" Sergey nodded, prompting more thought from the Immortal. "Yeah. Anything else would take too long. Give me five minutes."_
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _Five minutes later, plus travel time, found Sergey and Richie entering the reception. The forward mess hall, with a little help from decorations, became a muted party. Soft music, Vulcan, Richie guessed, played over the intercom system. Several faces he recognized, most he didn't. That was just as well. He'd gotten more than one confused look from former students in the corridors._
> 
> _"Well, Mr. Rozhenko. I see you found our latecomer." A rather haughty voice overrode the music, coming from a large man in dress uniform approaching them. "Out of uniform, even. You're dismissed, Mr. Rozhenko." With a perfunctory wave, he brushed aside Sergey and grabbed Richie's arm, hauling him toward a small group of people._
> 
> _Richie opened his mouth to speak, but before he could articulate anything, they were across the room. "Gentlemen, may I present our newest member, Mr. Ryan. Straight from the Academy, I'm told. Ambassador Sarek, of Vulcan. Ambassador Riva, of Ramatis." The two gentlemen he was being presented to nodded serenely. The Immortal bowed, inhaling to utter a greeting, but was interrupted again. "If you'll excuse us," the large man said as he dragged Richie away._
> 
> _"Now, look here," Richie began, not liking this treatment at all._
> 
> _"Ensign," the other man seethed. "First, being out of uniform is inexcusable. I thought they taught cadets better at the Academy. Second. While you may be working with the party at large, you will be working for me. Don't go disturbing the ambassadors or other members. Third. Until things change, you'll be working on board the ship with all the diplomatic communiqués, and I already have filing for you to do tonight...." The man stopped when a hand gently landed on his shoulder._
> 
> _"Commander James," Sarek of Vulcan interrupted. "I was hoping Mr. Ryan could join us later for our opening discussions." The ambassador turned to Richie. "A pleasure to work with you again."_
> 
> _Richie resisted a grin. A Vulcan would not appreciate it, and this "Commander James" would not enjoy it. "The pleasure is mine, Ambassador. I was delighted when you were named head of the delegation."_
> 
> _Mr. James wasn't liking this turn of events at all. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I don't believe he'd do you any good. Even though the ensign hasn't been given official position yet, I've found some work for him."_
> 
> _Sarek fixed his gaze on the large human. "I heard your last statement. Let me assure you, Commander Ryan will be much more that a file clerk in this delegation." Commander James almost blanched when he heard Richie's rank mentioned. "While the Diplomatic Corps is hesitant to confer full ambassadorship on him, I've already petitioned to have him act as Starfleet's liaison."_
> 
> _"But, but," Commander James stuttered, his face very pale. "That's my job."_
> 
> _"One not officially given you, as yet," Sarek pointed out. The Vulcan reached out, guiding Richie over to the other ambassador, Riva. "I was impressed with your speech at the Khitomer Conference of 2293. I hope you will bring the same order and 'good sense' to this meeting."_
> 
> _"I hope I can," Richie replied, glad to be away from the detestable Commander James. "Wouldn't that be amazing, peace between the Federation and Klingon? For the first time since we met them?"_
> 
> _Sarek nodded. "It would be most beneficial." He stopped before going any farther. "I must warn you. Riva is a deaf-mute. He communicates through a 'chorus' of interpreters, three individuals that represent three aspects of him. Speak directly to him. During this reception, I have been acting as his interpreter, allowing his chorus a brief rest from their travels."_
> 
> _Richie thought it strange, but no weirder than Immortals "I understand." They continued on, stopping briefly for refreshments when Richie's stomach grumbled. Once an hors d'oeuvre was washed down, they finished their tour of the room._
> 
> _"I believe Mr. Ryan will be a valuable asset to the negotiations," Sarek informed Riva. The Ramatisian examined the Immortal with his dark, black eyes. A smile graced his lips, hidden behind a closely cropped red beard. "I am honored to meet one on whom Sarek heaps such praise," the Vulcan continued, addressing Richie. The words were an echo of the emotions in Riva's eyes. With grace, the bearded ambassador held out a hand, palm first, placing it on the Immortal's chest._
> 
> _"It is," Richie began, freezing at the contact with the Ramatisian's hand. A spark shot through him, both hot and cold at the same instant. The world subtly shifted, as if a doorway opened up and flooded the universe with sudden light. Then Richie fainted._   
> 

"Sir?" The frightened voice of a young Deltan captured Richie's attention. Opening his eyes, he found himself on the _Intrepid_ 's transporter pad. His _Intrepid_. "Are you all right?" Lieutenant (j.g.) Gehbor asked.

Richie shook his head, banishing the vision. "Sorry. Just a little disorientation. I'll be fine."

* * *

"So there's this guy, see? He doesn't understand why I'm visiting the Academy." Richie's voice, sounding like a teenager, echoed in the deserted engine room. "He won't let me into the cafeteria...."

Sonya grunted. "Sounds like you had a pretty terrible day," she commented. A quick turn let her fix her gaze on the Immortal as he sat on the railing. "Let me guess, it rained on you, too." The Latino moved closer, trying to work around him. 

Richie grinned, leaning out of her way. "Nope. Clear as a bell. Who's telling this story?" He picked up one of her stray padds and began punching the buttons. 

"Give me that," she said as she grabbed it. With a shake of her head, she examined the small screen, hoping everything was still as she left it. "You may be telling, but I have a hundred things to do besides listen. Like a meeting in forty-five minutes? The one you called? Followed by a delightful group discussion with those uncoordinated cadets we're using." 

"You know the bridge meeting is fluff. And you can certainly handle some adolescent cadets. Right?" The Immortal playfully snatched the padd back, holding it behind him, out of her way. "So whatcha gonna do about it, Gomez?" 

With a wicked grin, she placed her hands inside his knees. With a yank, she spread his legs apart like a wishbone, moving into the space between them. "I wouldn't be making any threats, just yet," she whispered seductively. With one hand, she grabbed a handful of his loose shirt, jerking him forward. "I can order you around now, Mr. Junior Officer...." Her hot breath fluttered down his chest, her body heat warming his skin. Their breathing quickened, synchronized with each other. She was oh so close. 

"Gotcha." The word was whispered into his ear as she picked the padd from his hand, now within her reach. With a laugh, she backed away and pointedly ignored his obvious reaction to her flirting. 

"Damn," Richie cursed, utterly embarrassed as he crossed his legs. _I should know better by now_ , he told himself. "Do you want to hear this story or not?" 

***Pretar to Ryan. I hope I'm not disturbing you***

"Not," Sonya replied, with a wink. 

"Go ahead, Captain," Richie said. "There's nothing going on at the moment." His eyes, though, were full of a different message for the engineer. _But with a boatload of people, these little games will have to stop. Darn_. 

***I'm still escorting the diplomats around. Will you go by the Transporter Room and pick up our cadets? Get them settled and such.***

"Oh, sure," Richie replied with a grimace. "I just love to play den mother. Ryan out." Sonya's delighted laughter followed him out the room. He turned just as the doors were closing. "You ain't heard the last of me," he added as they shut. 

It only took a few minutes to reach Transporter Room 2. He barreled through as the doors automatically opened, not expecting anything drastic. _I really should know better_, he admonished himself again. _Most of these are for Sonya, so I guess I should be thankful. Ooh, revenge will be sweet._

There were twenty cadets crowded together in the room, plus mounds of luggage scattered in between them. Gehbor looked besieged on the podium, the only uncluttered area. Several cadets snapped to attention as Richie entered, then relaxed as they saw his civilian outfit. A few decided to play it safe and stayed respectful, in case he was an officer. But all of them were scared. 

"Gentlemen, ladies," Richie said by way of introduction. "If you'll follow me...?" He turned on his heel and headed out the still-open doors. The noise from the commotion behind him made him smile. In deference to their nervousness, he slowed to about half his normal gait. Still, it took twenty minutes to get everyone to the turbolift. "Deck five," he announced, motioning for the first two cadets to enter with him. 

They rode in silence during the short trip. The Immortal stared straight ahead, watching them fidget in his peripheral vision. He ignored the glances, ignored the luggage hitting him in the leg, and most certainly ignored the fact Sonya had left him very aroused. 

It took another twenty minutes to get the group assembled in the corridor outside their cabins. With a clap of his hands, Richie called for attention. "For those of you who haven't guessed, I am Lieutenant Richard Ryan, First Officer." He waited for the muttering to quiet before he continued. "I'll give you your cabin assignments in just a minute, but I do have some announcements. As of tomorrow morning, you are all receiving field promotions to ensign for the duration of the cruise. Comport yourselves accordingly." 

Several of the cadets looked shocked at the surprising news. The limited promotion would look very well on their records. "New uniform patterns are in the replicators. Use them. Second, you have about forty minutes to freshen up before someone from engineering comes by to escort you for a little informal meeting tonight. Don't make them wait. And see if the Chief Engineer will give you all a tour of the ship. Normal duty shifts and rotations, in uniform, with correct rank insignia, will start at 0900 tomorrow. Those of you not on Alpha shift might want to sleep in." 

_God, I really am a den mother_ , Richie thought as he watched them relax, turning from Academy cadets to lanky teenagers. _Was I ever like that?_ He knew the answer to that question. "Feel free to talk to the Chief Engineer, or myself, if you have any problems. Don't bother the Captain. There won't be a counselor on board, so we all have to tough it out. OK, Jenson." With his left hand, he pointed to the nearest door, continuing to call out names and point to doors as he moved backwards. _Now, I feel like a tour guide. I guess those lessons from Tessa came in handy after all._ He continued to walk, stiffly pointing out doors with the machine-like motions and dull monotone his dear friend had shown him. None of the cadets seemed to understand the sarcasm. 

It was funny, however, to watch the madhouse he left in his wake. Cadets fumbled over each other's luggage, trying to quickly get to their cabins. Slowly, the crowd in the corridor thinned as he reached the few remaining doors in this section. "Mr. Kim," he called. "And Mr. Bird." As the last two approached, he noticed they each carried only one bag apiece. _Traveling light. Smart._ One was an Asian, the other Mediterranean. "Which is which?" 

The dark haired Asian gulped, nervously looking to the other. "Danny Bird, sir," the other cadet said as he held out his hand. "This is my friend, Harry Kim." 

After shaking both their hands, Richie turned to Cadet Kim. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Kim, I need to have a word with Mr., ah, Bird." The inadvertent rhyme helped relax the nervous cadets, prompting a laugh. "I'll return him later," the Immortal added. 

After the Asian left, Richie turned to the remaining cadet. "You aren't so lucky," he said. "We have a bridge officers meeting in five minutes. Throw your gear on your bed, and come with me." The Immortal's estimate of Mr. Bird continued to climb as the cadet stepped into the room, tossing the bag in the direction of the sofa. Within ten seconds, Danny was standing in front of him, waiting. "Excellent. I see why Captain Lorrict insisted you should be on the bridge." 

"Thank you, sir," Danny replied, following Richie as the Immortal turned and walked down the hall. The cadet easily slid into position next to the First Officer as they entered the turbolift. "I plan to be the best." 

_Don't we all_ , Richie mentally added, bolstered by the cadet's bold attitude.


	3. Chapter 3

0700 rolled around, and Richie awoke with a start. It was bad enough dreams and memories had been plaguing him for the last few months, but the disorientation he felt as he looked around in the dark almost made him panic. "Lights," he called out, already rolling to the side, hunting for the phaser he kept nearby. His hand thumped on a side table as the room erupted into light. 

He was aboard the _Intrepid_ , in his quarters. He started gulping air as he looked around, his eyes finding his belongings, still mostly unpacked. The windows were clear, letting in the small amounts of light the stars produced. He felt no other Immortal. With a sigh, he fell back onto the bed, letting his body relax. Bad dreams, strange surroundings and now he was turning paranoid. 

It took a moment to catch his breath, the sudden shot of adrenaline slowly wearing off. He ran a hand over the bedsheets, feeling the differences from his own. The mattress was harder and thinner. Not quite as big as his old one. But it was something he would get use to, again. Another bed in a long string of abodes, all he called home. Maybe this one would feel like it. 

He almost thought he could understand Duncan, and the Highlander's need to build or remodel. It was a great feeling. Here was a place that Richie had built himself. His sweat and blood were mixed with the duranium and plasteel. He was surrounded by friends, and fueled with a purpose. _What more could anyone ask for?_ But there was more. Richie wished he knew what it was. 

_{It's about time you woke up,}_ Pretar thought from the room next door, the Captain's quarters. _{Open the door, I'm coming over. We have a lot of work to do before lunch.}_

Richie momentarily debated whether or not he could stay in bed for a few more minutes. "Come," he said aloud, unlocking the door. He decided it would be best to get the morning rituals out of the way. _I'm jumping into the shower, so take your time._ The Immortal slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

* * * * * * *

Pretar Lorrict rounded up the last of the padds scattered around his cabin. Most only required his thumbprint before being filed, but several had points he needed to bring up with his first officer. Once they were carefully balanced in his arms, he headed for the door. All of a sudden, a wave of contentment enveloped him, traveling along the bond from Richie as the Immortal immersed himself in hot water. Unable to get any shields up in time, Pretar felt his body respond, namely by relaxing. The padds trembled, their precarious balance disturbed. He quickly moved several steps down the corridor to Richie's door, which opened for him. The Betazoid barely made it to the table before the stack shifted and scattered themselves over the surface.

 _Thanks_ , Pretar thought out. _I really wanted to take another shower today._ The captain had been awake since 0500, working on the myriad of reports and files. All a hot shower did for him now was make him sleepy. 

_{Sorry,}_ Richie replied, _{I'll block more.}_ It seemed weird, feeling chagrin from a man almost ten times older than the Betazoid. _{Since you're here, make yourself useful and replicate me a uniform.}_

Several sarcastic replies crossed Pretar's mind, including an impish desire for Richie to come out and get it himself. Decorum and prudence won, and within seconds, the replicator spit out a brand new, newly designed uniform, tailored for Richie's measurements. The Betazoid looked briefly at the gray undershirt, wondering if now was a good time for his surprise. _Better wait._

"Hhuummf?" Richie asked as Pretar laid the uniform on the bathroom counter. It was hard to vocalize when hot water splashed on one's face, but the mental query came through loud and clear. _{Wait for what?}_

"Breakfast," Pretar sidestepped, as he turned and left the bathroom. It was hard for him to breathe with all the steam. He spent the next several minutes over the table, arranging the padds and ignoring the noises from the shower. He had finally taken a seat to wait when the bathroom door slid opened. 

The setting looked like something from one of Richie's bad movies. A wave of white steam burst through the door into the room, and out of it strolled the Immortal. His dark shape was visible first, wisps of white swirled around him. Then he was there. Pretar's first look took his breath away. 

Starfleet's new uniforms, for station personnel and Intrepid-class vehicles was a one piece jumpsuit, with a gray undershirt. The jumpsuit was solid black up to mid-chest, with the top in one of the three basic colors. Maroon for Command, yellow for Services and blue for Sciences. It had no collar, just a closable seam in front from neck to crotch. This let the undershirt, which did have a high collar, be seen. 

The effect on Richie was remarkable. The maroon brought out the red highlights in his dark blond hair. The gray and black made the Immortal's blue eyes the only other color, and very noticeable. From the soft padded shoulders, to the black boots, the uniform made Richie neat, trim and serious. "Oh, my," was Pretar's comment. 

Richie blushed, not one for being examined. "You're exaggerating, as usual," he said. Once he noticed the padds on the table, he moved closer. 

"I'm serious, Rich," Pretar argued as he stood, "you look good." He pulled out a palm-sized case from the stack on the table. "And I've got something that will make it even better." The Betazoid walked around the table, meeting Richie in the middle of the room. "Here," he said, opening the box and revealing a solid black pip with gold edging on a cushion of black velvet. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Ryan."

* * * * * * *

Richie looked at the physical representation of a promotion, speechless. Pretar moved next to him, adding it with the two solid gold pips on his collar to make three of them in a row. "Perfect," Pretar commented as he stepped back to admire the effect.

The Immortal was frozen, trying to decide if this was something he wanted or not. He had fluctuated up and down the ladder so many times, rank wasn't very important. It didn't affect his position as second-in-command, that rested on the bridge officer's test. The pay change was hardly worth the effort, when weighed against all of Richie's fortune. But out of everything in the world, it was the only thing Pretar could give him that meant something. "Thank you," he finally replied, absently rubbing his fingers over the three pips. "Thank you," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. 

Pretar gently turned him so that he was facing the one mirror in the room. Richie didn't want to look. Mirrors were something he avoided. This one would have been gone by that evening. But the Betazoid's firm hand on his chin raised his head, until he could no longer avoid the sight. He locked eyes with himself, wondering what would happen this time. 

It had been a while since he had seen the man in the mirror. Or more exact, the boy. At nineteen, Richie had thought of himself more of a charmer than a hunk. Well, Tessa had called him handsome, but he felt his face was bland. Ordinary. His blue eyes weren't a clear blue, just like his hair. _What was it Miranda called it? Dishwater blond._ Dirty, like his eyes. The quintessential blue-eyed blond, but sullied. That's what he saw. 

The face was the same as it had always been. The Immortal found it hard to remember if he had looked any other way. It had been so long ago. As time had passed, he found himself drifting father away from his reflection, sort of like Dorian Gray, but in reverse. The mirror was showing him a mockery of what he felt. He was getting older, so much older, and there was his laughing visage, young as always. One, or the other, was a lie. 

He had married (once), raised several children (each adopted, like Jack), and occasionally he'd chance to see himself in a mirror. In it the street punk, sometimes even caught in a grin, would frown, and look back with sad, tired eyes. But the face was always young, and fresh. Such a lie. 

"That's not me," Richie whispered, finally turning away from the mirror. Pretar was beside him, waiting. "That can't be me." Somehow, the Betazoid guided him to the bed. There was a hand on his shoulder, and comfort flowing from the bond, but confusion overwhelmed him. It was always like this, with the mirror. "I don't want to be that," he cried, suddenly almost in tears. 

Out of all the pros and cons of Immortality, Richie had narrowed his hatred to one simple thing. He would never grow old. Everything else had a solution, albeit a temporary one, except for his appearance. He was forever frozen at nineteen. And he hated that. 

Always being treated like a teenager. Never given credit for maturity or wisdom. Always looked down upon as a young, naive man. Or boy. The last straw had been one evening when he had dined with Miranda, and one of the old socialite biddies had commented on "her boy-toy." That had killed him.

* * * * * * *

Babbling, he managed to tell some of it to Pretar. The Betazoid sat beside him, whispering soft, soothing words, letting the Immortal say what he needed. This had been building for a long time, much longer than the Captain had originally thought. But before they set out to explore the galaxy, it needed to be purged. And neither was deluded enough to think the problem was totally solved, but at least now, Richie would be able to talk about it. That was a step in the right direction.

Before Command training, Pretar had been a ship's counselor. Once Richie had told him about Immortals, he had spent a lot of time at Starfleet Medical, auditing the courses on long-lived species, and other seminars that might help in dealing with a person who would live forever. A discreet meeting with Dr. Crusher five years ago had also helped. The Betazoid knew having Richie as a first officer was a two-way street. The Immortal offered a lot, but needed as much in return. 

"Why don't I feel wise?" Richie suddenly asked. "I'm almost four hundred, and all I feel is stupid." 

Pretar couldn't help chuckling, but he also knew Richie wouldn't interpret it the wrong way. "By the First House! That's a tough one." With a sigh, he lay back on the bed, knowing this would take a bit. "Now, this is just my personal opinion...," he began, looking at Richie curled up at the head of the bed. 

The Immortal nodded, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I understand." 

"In most species, there's birth, life, and finally death. In the middle.... No, wait." Pretar stopped, taking a moment to order his thoughts. "Most species have a definite lifespan. In humans, it's about one hundred thirty years. Betazoids, about one eighty. Vulcans, around two, two fifty. With me so far?" Richie nodded. 

"So, somewhere in the middle of that, the lifespan, a person wakes up one morning. The body's a little slower, the joints ache, the lines appear on the face. There comes a time a person can't kid himself any longer; he's on the downhill stretch of his life." The bed wiggled every time Pretar gestured with his hands. His face was animated, and he couldn't help feeling excited. That made Richie smile. 

"When a person feels, really feels, his mortality, something happens," Pretar continued, sitting up at the foot of the bed. "He realizes that he's running out of time. There won't be much time to find more answers. He stops actively searching. He's spent all this time gathering knowledge, and what is he going to do with it? Where's the enlightenment? There is none. Heck, you've known people over a thousand years old, and still haven't found any enlightenment. So we can assume there is none. Just more questions. With me so far?" 

Richie nodded again. "And this is leading...?" 

"Shut up, you," Pretar jokingly warned. "This is my lecture. Now, this person looks back, and notices how much he's learned, how many answers he has. And all around him are all these people, younger people, still searching for answers. So he sets up shop to dispense those answers." 

Richie shook his head, holding out a hand and interrupting. "I'm talking wise people here, Petey. Every salesman is trying to sell answers. Especially to make a buck." 

"Try this. The wise ones are the people who realize you can't just hand out answers to people. They won't learn. You have to set their feet on the right path to find the answer." Pretar tried to gauge Richie's reaction. "You don't understand." 

The Immortal did look confused. "So...the wise ones don't give out the answer, but try to lead others to the right answer. So all I have to do...." 

"Wait right there," Pretar said. "It's true, you might be able to find the right frame of mind to be considered a wise person, but you're forgetting the first part." 

"Which is?" Richie prompted. 

Pretar leaned forward. "You have to give up searching. True wisdom comes when you give up the thirst for knowledge, and I don't think you're ready for it just yet." 

"I guess you're saying that when I don't need to search...." Richie stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly unfocusing. "No longer need to search," he mumbled. His face brightened. "I understand." 

It was Pretar's turn to be confused. "That's good, 'cause I don't." 

"Just something a person told me," Richie explained, grinning again. "I still wish I felt wise, though." 

"What are we going to do with you?" the Betazoid joked. In a fit of whimsy, he reached out to tousle the Immortal's damp hair. He was unprepared for the instant and overwhelming response. Apparently, he had flipped one of Richie's switches. Waves of pure anger flooded along the bond to Pretar. He could almost see it, red and seething. 

Richie's face was livid. "Don't you ever say that to me again," the Immortal hissed through clenched teeth. But it broke, like a wave upon the shore, and all that remained was embarrassment and sorrow. 

"Maybe we should go get breakfast, now," Pretar pointed out, knowing when to cut and run. The Betazoid stood and walked to the door, stopping and turning to wait. "Coming?" 

Richie was torn between apologizing and trying to ignore his outburst. "Yeah," he sullenly replied, standing also and smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform. "Petey,..." he started, walking toward the door. 

_It's fine,_ Pretar thought, giving the Immortal's shoulder a brief squeeze. They walked into the hall and down the corridor, side by side. Once again Captain and First Officer.

* * *

Breakfast in the mess hall, and a morning full of reports and activity had kept Richie busy enough not to dwell on what happened earlier. With the medical staff finally on board and the gaggle of young cadets, he was up to his chin in paperwork. But now that everything was ready, and nothing left but set a course and go, his mind returned to his outburst. "What are we going to do with you?" 

The few times someone had uttered those words had scarred him more than he would admit. He was the misfit. The extraneous puzzle piece that doesn't fit anyplace. The eternal fifth wheel. God, how he hated that. 

When Emily Ryan died, and Mr. Stubbs had first said it to him, everything had fallen apart. The hell of the orphanage, then moving from one foster family to another, never fitting in. He was always the outsider. He hated feeling that way so much, he had finally run away his junior year of high school. Lived on the streets for over a year, stealing to survive. Nobody ever said he didn't fit in on the streets. He never sunk to true homelessness, but he did spend a lot of time cold and hungry. 

Then Duncan had found him, and as much as he tried, they all tried, Richie was always 'extra'. He didn't feel it at the time; he was overwhelmed by everything. The shop, Immortals, having a home. He only found out later...

> **_2092 A.D. -- Paris, Earth_**
> 
> _...that night. Later than he had planned. Luckily, the day wasn't over yet, not until midnight. Winter Solstice was special for Richie. Not because it was the shortest day of the year, nor for any astrological or agronomical reasons. His teacher, his friend, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had been born on that day. Five hundred years ago, to be exact._
> 
> _It hadn't been easy getting to Earth from Vulcan in time. Then there was a hectic morning and afternoon flying the globe, trying to find the Highlander. But at 11:30 pm, amid the bright lights of Paris, Richie got out of the rented car. He took a moment and looked across the Quai de la Tournelle at the new barge. Duncan always seemed to return here. The young Immortal couldn't complain--the first winter here, just the three of them, had been...magical._
> 
> _Leaning over to the passenger seat, Richie grabbed the small, wrapped present and card. It wasn't much, really, just an attempt at jewelry. One thing the Vulcans did well, besides justify everything, was their metalwork. What else would you expect from an environment whose mean temperature could melt bronze?_
> 
> _He looked at the other two cars he had parked near. One was Duncan's antique Beamer, the other a mystery. Probably Amanda's or Adam's, or some other friend. Richie was still too far away to know how many Immortals were on the barge. All the lights were off, so it was probably Amanda, or some other woman. Richie paused, wondering if he should disturb them. Duncan would probably be celebrating._
> 
> _His mind was decided for him. Suddenly, a small light was turned on inside the barge, sending faint rays out the portholes. Several were open, letting the air in and sound out. It was difficult to see who was inside, but an odd premonition made Richie stay where he was. He found himself very nervous, and tense._
> 
> _"What is it now, MacLeod?" Adam's voice drifted over the still night air to the cars on the bank. One question was answered._
> 
> _There was a moment of silence from the barge, while a dark shape moved toward the bow. Richie dared not step closer. "I can't believe he didn't call," the Highlander quietly replied, his deep baritone unmistakable._
> 
> _"Look, Duncan, it's not midnight," Adam shot back. "There still is time. Besides, he may have tried while we were at the opera. You know you never activate the answering program when you leave."_
> 
> _"Yeah," the Highlander replied, his voice full of sarcasm. "Anything's possible. I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Why should Richie remember my birthday? Like he cares."_
> 
> _The dark shaped moved to a porthole, blocking the light. It was apparently Adam. "Is that why you've been such a sourpuss all day? Waiting for your student to call? Get a real life, MacLeod. I didn't come all this way to spend a week watching you pine away for your student. Who knows what is going on with that guy? He's on another planet. Literally."_
> 
> _"You don't like him very much, do you?" Duncan asked._
> 
> _Richie froze as Adam looked out the porthole at the bank. "I'm surprised he's lived this long. And that's only because of your training. Most of the young ones are all dead by now." Duncan's next words were lost on the wind, but Adam's voice was still strong. "It doesn't matter to me, he's not my protégé. You're the one who said you wished you'd never taken him under your wing."_
> 
> _More was said, but because of the wind, or the shock, Richie didn't hear the rest. The voices were arguing, sharp edged words, but he wasn't paying attention. His legs felt weak, and only leaning against the side of one of the cars kept him from collapsing to the ground. He'd never imagined the Highlander didn't want him. Never._
> 
> _Sometime later, after the lights were extinguished and the voices silenced, Richie dug around for a pen. He quickly scrawled a brief note on the outside of the card, explaining he had come by very late and didn't want to disturb the Highlander. Then with a little work and a small pick, Duncan's car was unlocked and the alarm deactivated. Richie placed the package and the card inside, and softly shut the door._
> 
> _Like a phantom in the night, he left, driving away. By the time he had reached Vulcan, he had convinced himself it was all a dream, a nightmare. A nightmare he never woke from._

Richie blinked, finding himself staring at the dedication plaque on the bridge, his fingers idly rubbing his name. Sometime recently, a new one had been installed, this one giving his new rank of Lieutenant Commander. _Petey thinks of everything._

At that moment, the door to the Captain's Ready Room whooshed open, and Captain Lorrict entered the bridge. From across the room, George Aston called out "good mornin', Cap'n."

"Let's get the show on the road, shall we?" the Betazoid asked moving to his chair. "Bridge to Engineering. Gomez, are we ready yet?" 

***Nine by nine, sir. You have full impulse, and the warp drive is ready for action.***

"Fire her up, Chief. Bridge out. Mr. Bird, report to the bridge. Helm...." Pretar stopped, having to take a second to find Richie by the wall. "Would you care to join us, Mr. Ryan?" 

The turbolift doors opened, disgorging the smiling Ensign Bird. "Already on my way, Captain." He waited patiently, drawing attention from the Immortal. 

"If you'd be so kind as to monitor tactical as we leave the system," the Betazoid offered. 

"Yes, SIR!" Danny acknowledged, smiling widely as he moved over to the back console. George was grinning like a Cheshire cat, keeping his eyes glued to his Operations station. During the exchange, Richie quietly moved to the conn, sitting down and swinging into action. 

Pretar turned back. "Set a course, Mr. Ryan. And this time, try not to antagonize the navigational programs." Richie didn't verbally acknowledge the order, just efficiently went about doing it. _{All right. What's going on? You still upset about this morning?}_

Sometimes Richie hated the bond. _No,_ he mentally sighed, signaling Ops and Engineering for power. _Yes. I don't know. I shouldn't have yelled at you. That was uncalled for._

_{I don't think you were yelling at me,}_ Pretar calmly replied. _{If you had been, I would probably be angry with you right now.}_ The Betazoid cleared his throat. "Time to Jovian orbit?" _{Oh, yes. Sonya wants to throw our own little party tonight. Shall I put you down as a yes?}_

_Sure_ , Richie mentally replied. "Thirty seconds. Bringing warp engines on-line. Course set at heading 247 mark 4. Twenty seconds." The Immortal double checked the heading, notifying engineering of imminent warp speed. "Ten. Pivoting nacelles. Five. Four. Three. Two. Engaging warp drive."

Outside, the ship cruised along just slower than the speed of light, slicing effortlessly through the minute debris of space. Powerful harmonics formed around the ship, solidifying into a subspace bubble, invisible and undetectable by normal means. A hole in space/time appeared in front of the vessel, pulling it forward. So fast that viewed in normal space, the ship was stretched. In truth, the vessel attained faster-than-light speed. At the beck and call of her master, the _Intrepid_ jumped.

* * *

> **_2346 A.D. -- Near the Homwell System, Sector 501_**
> 
> _"I believe, gentlemen," Sarek of Vulcan said as he lay the padd down on the table, "we have an opening statement." The other three persons gave their own versions of relief. Sarek had been the last one to read it._
> 
> _Maggie Tuscona stood up. "Now that that's settled, I am long overdue for sleep." As the group's linguist and archivist, she had been working for the last forty hours, translating and editing. It was easy for everyone else to fade in and out as they discussed tenses and modifiers, but poor Maggie could rarely get a break. With a nod, she swept out of the room, heading for her cabin._
> 
> _"The opening paragraph was eloquent, Mr. Ryan," Riva said through the woman as Wisdom. He smiled warmly at the Immortal before standing as well. "Good night," Intellect spoke. After working with the odd chorus for over a week, it was starting to get easier to understand the three who spoke for the one._
> 
> _Richie felt right at home. There were so many foreign movies he had seen with MacLeod, that voice-overs were almost second nature. "Thanks," he called out, watching the Ramatisian and two of the chorus leave. The Warrior aspect remained, looking rather sheepish. The Immortal's stomach tweaked. "Anyone care for a late night snack?"_
> 
> _Sarek declined. "I've been enlightened to your peculiar dietary habits, Mr. Ryan. I must decline. Good night, gentlemen." The Vulcan swept out of the room, leaving the Immortal and last chorus member._
> 
> _Richie gathered his notes, hoping the other would speak. When there was nothing left to do but leave, Richie looked up from his seat, eyeing the warrior. "Well?" he asked, drawing out the word in invitation._
> 
> _"If I may be so bold..." the man asked, hesitating for a sign of encouragement from the Immortal. With a wave from Richie's hand, he continued. "I am Nostrum, a prince of Ramatis' Warrior Clan. I have heard you are a fighter of some renown. Would you care to spar?"_
> 
> _The request was something of a shock. It was an offer Richie had been declining for several decades, but now he sat back and thought. While diplomatic work was rewarding and uplifting, it was all desk work. His mind was working fifteen hours a day, while his body languished. He had meant to do some exercising, but maybe a workout partner would be the thing. He and Charlie always had fun, productive workouts, and that's exactly what he needed at the moment. "What's your pleasure?" he asked with a smile._
> 
> * * * * * * *
> 
> _Nostrum would make a fine Clan Chief someday. Richie had decided that after thirty minutes of nonstop hand-to-hand. The pair was in one of the smaller gyms aboard, their sweat-streaked bodies the only color amid the gray walls. "Here," Richie said, purposely grabbing Nostrum's arm and slowly showing him the last throw. The prince rolled gently on the mat, letting the Immortal follow through and add the nerve hold that had ended the informal match._
> 
> _"I see," Nostrum replied, trying one of two possible counters. The Immortal had moves for each. The Ramatisian only worked himself into a tighter package. "Enough!"_
> 
> _Richie stood, offering Nostrum a helping hand, which the chorus member accepted. "You're very good," the Immortal pointed out. It had taken several of his best moves to defeat the other. "I haven't had such a tough time since...well, quite a while."_
> 
> _"You are better," Nostrum bluntly pointed out, heading for the pile of towels and water holders they had brought. "It has been a honor. If I might...ah...." It struck Richie that Nostrum was not much older than he had been, the first time he had met Duncan MacLeod. Even though the prince was at his height, and fully muscled, he was only twenty, according to the bio. And as nervous as the Immortal had ever been._
> 
> _Richie paused. "Go on," he urged, reaching for his towel._
> 
> _Nostrum gathered his courage. "I would like for us to do this again...if you are agreeable, of course." The prince brushed a wet lock of his dark brown hair aside, giving Richie a hesitant look. "You are an excellent teacher," he added, hoping it might help his cause._
> 
> _"Well, I'd be honored myself to have a student of your skill," Richie replied, not wanting to prolong the man's wait. "It is agreed," the Immortal formally intoned. The pair bowed, Nostrum's face a mix of relief and seriousness._
> 
> _"That would not be a bad idea," the prince said, his voice dropping half an octave. Richie looked at him with a raised eyebrow. It was Nostrum's small glance behind him that made Richie turn, surprised to see Riva at the door. "I am sorry to intrude, Mr. Ryan," the prince added as Riva bowed formally as well._
> 
> _Richie returned the salute. "You would not be intruding," he replied._
> 
> _"It might help ease the situation for you to make similar arrangements among the Klingons," Riva pointed out, Nostrum's voice added to his own facial expressions. "Such bonds would only help our cause." Like a dance, the prince moved behind the Ambassador, taking his normal place. "Out of our group, you seem the best candidate for such a task."_
> 
> _It wasn't as easy for Richie to switch gears, seeing Nostrum change from person to mouthpiece. Try as he might, the Immortal could not help glancing at him as he spoke. But Riva did not seem offended. "I'll see what I can do. You're right, though. We'll need every connection we can get."_
> 
> _Riva quirked an eyebrow. "Just because they are ready to talk about peace," Nostrum supplied, "does not mean they are ready for peace." The diplomat chuckled without a sound, but Nostrum's voice held the mirth. "And it shall be the warriors who lead to the peace."_
> 
> _"Wise words," Richie acknowledged. With a final nod, Riva departed. It was strange watching Nostrum visibly change; first standing rigid like a statue, muscles poised, then relaxing and becoming more expressive and free. The Immortal decided that it was harder now that he thought of the prince as a person, not just a nameless translator, like the other two. "That was weird."_
> 
> _Nostrum finally reached for his own towel. "It is difficult to find free time when one is part of Riva's chorus. That is part of the price. But I believe he approves of our arrangement." The nagging sound of tapping intruded. Richie looked down, surprised to find the prince's feet perfectly still. "Richie?" Nostrum asked, his voice pitched too high. The Immortal just stared._

"Richie," Sonya said again. Richie blinked, finding himself at a table in the mess hall. The Chief Engineer was standing across from him, tray in hand, her foot meticulously tapping the carpeted floor. "Gomez to Ryan, come in Ryan."

"He's been like that all afternoon," Danny pointed out from the next chair over. His tray was empty, except for a small piece of chocolate pie. The last Richie had seen, it was heaped with food. "At least I don't have to fight to dominate the conversation." 

Ensign Kim edged around Sonya to take the chair next to Danny. "That'd be a first," he joked, a smile gracing his face. With relish, the Asian dug into his plate, not waiting for Sonya. 

"Yeah, whatever, sit," Richie offered, waving his fork at the last empty seat. "And you," he added, using his fork to point at Danny, " do not need to be relating stories about your superiors, Ensign." 

Ensign Bird did not look exactly sorry. "Yes, sir," he said, scowling when Harry grinned even wider this time. "I won't tell anyone you've spent the last forty minutes playing with your mashed potatoes...." Danny stopped at Richie's panicked look. 

"What?" the Immortal loudly asked. "It's been that long? Why didn't you do something?" His outburst shook the ensigns up. Danny only nervously shrugged his shoulders. "Computer, time," Richie called out, already standing. 

***Time is 1917.***

"Damn," Richie cursed, running from the table. He was scheduled to relieve Pretar at 1900. _I hate being late._

* * * * * * *

Danny leaned into the table, whispering conspiratorially. "Is he always like that?"

Sonya looked at both their eager faces, torn between loyalty to Richie, and the chance to dish some dirt. "Let me tell you about the time he accidentally left the holodeck on, and...."

* * *

**Captain's Log, Stardate 46261.5. We have successfully smoothed out the matter/antimatter mix through Warp 7.9 as of yesterday evening. Today we finish up Warp 8 and 9, then proceed at a leisurely pace to the Braslota system for other testing. The Engineering staff has yet to encounter a problem that was not a simple fix. I know Sonya is curious to see how well the neural gel packs hold up under str....**

The Captain's Ready Room was plunged into darkness in the middle of Pretar's comment. Outside the large windows, the streak of stars at warp collapsed to their normal round pinpricks, then started wildly tumbling. It didn't help the Betazoid that the artificial gravity failed, and he too started tumbling. "Captain to Engineering, report!" 

Silence answered him. Stifling a curse, he tapped his communicator on his chest, trying to open a comlink. "Engineering? Anyone?" Still no answer. "Computer, what is the ship's status?" 

_{No luck,}_ Richie thought out. _{All main systems are down and out. Hell, even the emergency lighting is gone. I can't see a blasted thing. Kind of spooky, really. Did we make it out of warp?}_

Pretar grabbed the edge of his desk. _Yeah, though we're tumbling pretty bad. Do you remember if there's any navigational hazard we could be floating towards?_ After he got his spinning under control, a soft kick sped him to the doors. He grabbed at the frame, trying to anchor there. 

_{We're clear as a bell, for a good couple of hours. Need a hand?}_ It wasn't a completely selfless request from the Immortal. Pretar knew he didn't like the dark. And only the Ready Room and Conference Room had windows on this level. 

_No,_ the Betazoid replied, feeling for the access hatch to the manual override. _Try and keep the cadets on the bridge calm. Is George there yet?_

Richie thought a curse that was truly unpronounceable. _{No. I hope he's not trapped in the turbolift. Shall I do a 'look-see' and find out what's going on in the rest of the ship?}_

_Feel up to it?_ Pretar asked, concerned. Richie wasn't the most accomplished telepath he had known, and stretching beyond simple mental communication was risky for the Immortal, at best. _I think it might be wise to let Sonya have a chance of getting things back on._

_{You're the boss,}_ Richie replied, with only a small feeling of disappointment surfacing. _{Oops, I think Danny just hit something. Gotta go!}_

Pretar tried not to picture the free-for-all happening just a few feet away, but a chuckle sounded as he manhandled the door controls. It was eerie, to be working in the black and silence during a crisis. Usually, red flashing lights and sharp klaxons kept the adrenaline rush at fevered pitch, but this was definitely different. Hopefully, not fatal. 

"Report," he called out once the doors were open enough for him to float onto the Bridge. Richie had been right, it was spooky. He heard one of the cadets on the far side, probably near Ops, and Richie helping Danny somewhere to the left. 

"Same old same old," the Immortal called out, more of a location signal than a real answer. "I think Danny's bleeding. My hand feels wet. Can you get to one of the emergency beacons?" The tactical console held all the emergency equipment for the Bridge. Medical kit, light beacons, and some rations. Just another of the many precautions they had made. 

It took a moment for Pretar to pivot around, the better to launch himself over the console. Not that the Betazoid had much problem in zero gravity, but without any light, each protrusion and beam became almost lethal. He felt around, trying to remember which access panel held the supplies. _Compartment G-3, which is two over and..._

***Gomez to Bridge. Can anyone hear me? Gomez to Bridge.***

"We hear you," Pretar called out as his hand closed on the light beacon. "Go ahead." 

***Everything, and I mean everything is off-line. We're trying to coax the emergency generators to life down here, which will give us enough power to start the others remotely. Any problems up there?***

The Betazoid closed his eyes before turning the small light on. Immediately, the area behind the tactical console burst into light. "We're tumbling, but everyone's semi-fine. Do you know what caused this, yet?" As he talked he grabbed another beacon, sending it spinning across the room to the cadet at Ops. Pretar could barely make out Richie, his legs wrapped around the back railing with Danny's head trapped against the Immortal's chest. Small globules of blood floated around them like satellites. 

***Ah,....***

"Out with it," Pretar ordered, pulling out the medical kit. With a tiny push, he floated toward Richie and Danny, slow enough that his arrival wouldn't jar the pair. The Chief Engineer hadn't replied by the time he reached them. "Sonya." 

***I think I spilled some coffee on the main power relay....***

It was too much for Ensign Bird. He let loose a loud giggle. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Coffee." His voice was tinged with hysterics, but he didn't struggle. Pretar and Richie locked eyes over the young man's head. 

"That's enough, Mr. Bird," Pretar warned, running a scan on the head injury. The medical tricorder only found minimal damage, the worst being loss of blood. _Which is probably making him giddy, mixed with the darkness...._ "Do your best. Bridge out." There was an edge in the tone of the last order. Pretar shook his head, aware that Richie found this as frustrating as he did. Digging a pressure bandage from the med kit, the Betazoid applied it to Danny's wet skull, giving it a once-over with the tricorder. "Good as new." 

"I wish," Danny mumbled in reply. In contrast to his gloomy demeanor, the emergency lights activated, as well as the gentle sounds of life support. 

With a sympathetic pat on the ensign's shoulder, Richie turned to the other bridge crew at Ops. "How are you holding up, Susan?" The blond cadet nodded nervously, already seeing if there was anything she could do to help Engineering from her console. 

"Artificial gravity is back on-line," she called out. All four gently floated to the carpet. Disaster protocols called for a two minute delay before the full 1G was reached, so that delicate and vital equipment wouldn't crash to the floor. During the wait, George Aston appeared on the Bridge, via the Jefferies tubes. 

The Texan's grumpy visage changed to concern once he saw the injured ensign. "Whatintha Sam Hill happened to you?" he asked. 

"Seems Mr. Bird didn't live up to his name," Captain Lorrict supplied, trying to lighten the moment. "He ended up playing hardball with a bulkhead." Danny just scowled again. "Rich, once the turbolifts are working, escort Danny to Sickbay, and have them look at that cut of yours as well." 

"What cut..." the Immortal started, raising his hand to his forehead. His fingers came away bloodied. As everyone watched, the wound sparked, slowly healing itself. Richie just looked annoyed. 

It was Pretar's turn to almost blush. "Sorry." The Betazoid took a second and revised his game plan. "Ensign Boulter, would you escort Mr. Bird to Sickbay once the turbolifts are working? Mr. Ryan, you have the Bridge, Mr. Aston, with me. We'll be in Engineering." He crooked a finger, beckoning the Texan to the Jefferies tube. 

"Again?" George asked, several soft chuckles following him as he entered the small crawlway.

* * * * * * *

Richie rubbed his hands, looking around the Bridge. "All right, Susan, try and get at least some power to the thrusters. We need to stop the tumbling. Danny, see if you can get the viewscreen on-line." All three went to work, until five minutes later, the viewscreen lit, the thrusters were ready, and the turbolift door opened. "That's your cue to exit." Once the pair had left, the Immortal turned his attention to the screen. Without any power to the sensors yet, he was going to have to do this by eye. _Let's start with a little bit to the left...._

* * *

It was relatively quiet in Sickbay when Richie finally arrived. He had planned to check on Danny as soon as Aston returned to the Bridge. Dr. Simmons was working on the ensign at one of the beds. Julia Everett was assisting and Ensign Kim was off to the side, nursing a freshly bandaged hand. "So, Doctor, will he live?" the Immortal asked. 

"Just barely," Danny spat. 

"Yes," the tall human replied a little forcefully, not stopping what he was doing. "Dermal stimulator," he said, holding out his hand. The nurse handed the small instrument to him, then moved back to the office. "By the way, Ryan. Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit him?" 

It constantly amazed Richie how much of his archaic language ended up in his coworkers' vocabulary. _Guess I'm habit forming._ "I H8 N-SENZ, Doc. So it's only a flesh wound?" 

Jarvis Simmons nodded, finishing the scalp rejuvenation. "Yes. He's perfectly fit for duty, unlike that one." With a wave, he gestured over to the other ensign. "Now, son, watch out for those low-flying runabouts...." 

The doctor was gently patting Danny's shoulder when the ensign interrupted. "It wasn't my fault. Gomez probably had an ancestor on the Titanic. The Challenger.... 

"Danny..." Harry Kim warned from the wall. The Asian nervously glanced at Richie, then back to his friend. "Your mouth...." 

"...the Nova Squadron...." 

Richie stepped in, holding up a hand. "That's enough, ensign. Mr. Bird will have plenty of time to work on his mouth, Mr. Kim, while he does a planetary survey of the system we're traveling through. All ten planets. And moons." That got Danny's attention. "We only have the lateral array working, so you better get started. With your permission, Doctor?" 

Dr. Simmons nodded, heading back to his office. Unfortunately, Harry Kim didn't have the same restraint. "Sir..." A glare from Richie stopped him. "I, I better get back to engineering." With one last sympathetic glance, he left. 

"That will take weeks, sir," Danny pointed out. 

Richie smiled. "Then you had really better hurry." It didn't take someone with a Betazoid's ability to sense Ensign Bird was choking back another retort. The young man just glared on his way out, avoiding Richie as he passed. "I'm sure you'll learn something from this," the Immortal encouraged. "The best always do."

* * *

A very angry Daniel Bird glared at the console. It didn't glare back, same as the last six hours. With a small sense of accomplishment, the survey on planet number three was done. What was irritating was the sensors were already aligning on number four. _And it's sixteen,...no, seventeen moons._ But luckily, the evening shift was almost over, and Commander Ryan just might let him leave. 

He'd been at the tactical console since returning from Sickbay, over eighteen hours ago. Lunch had hit in the middle of the first survey. The opening test on his patience occurred when he mentioned getting lunch in the mess hall. Captain Lorrict had stopped him with a word just as he stepped into the turbolift. The Betazoid calmly pointed out there was plenty of time during the seismic scans to grab something from the replicator in his Ready Room. 

His next moment of hope came at the shift change, when the Alpha shift had supper. He had turned to follow the Captain into the turbolift, but Richie had come out in front of him, blocking his way. "The survey's not done, Ensign, back to work," he had been ordered. It took a painful bite on his tongue to not say something. It was now close to 0300 hours. 

Part of the problem was that repairing the other sensors, which would cut down the scanning time exponentially, was a very low priority. _Probably at the Captain's or Ryan's orders. Just to make this job difficult. I could have been done in ten hours, and be in bed by now, or goofing off with Harry on a holodeck._

It wasn't as if he hadn't spent many sleepless nights at the Academy, working on some project or paper. But those times were his choices. Now was silly punishment for speaking his mind. _They didn't even take the extreme duress into consideration. And eighteen hours was brutal discipline. Someone is going to hear about..._

"Ensign!" Richie called out from the command chair. "Your scan has been finished for twenty minutes. Move on." Even though the First Officer wasn't a Betazoid like the Captain, Danny was almost sure he was telepathic. Just his luck. 

An odd fluctuation in the result of the scan caught his eye. A minor variation in metal samples, an odd spike where there normally wasn't one. His mind dropped his brooding in the blink of an eye, focusing on the glitch. The ensign reran a small part of the scan, focusing on the anomalous readings. 

"Sir, I'm reading a rather large amount of duranium on the tenth moon." That seemed to get the First Officer's attention. The man came around the railing and moved next to the console, checking the readings. "Well, large for duranium. It's rare that more than a few kilograms of low-grade ore is found in one place." 

Ryan looked closer. "And you've found almost a kiloton. Hmmm." With a tap, he activated his communicator. "Bridge to Aston. Better get up here. Ensign, what do you make of it?" 

Startled at the sudden change of his status, Danny's mind raced. "I doubt it's natural." He refiltered the data trying to come up with any more information. "A ship?" 

"A ship," Ryan confirmed. "Helm, plot an orbital approach to the tenth moon. Full impulse." 

The bored ensign at the conn perked up. "Aye, aye, sir." With deft fingers, she plotted the easiest course, moving the _Intrepid_ into a synchronous orbit above the deposit. 

"You might be able to localize the area and get a better scan, one that might tell us if it's a ship," the First Officer suggested, turning back to Danny. The ensign was already trying. 

Danny shook his head. "It's impossible with only the lateral array. Unless you want to use a probe?" The few probes the _Intrepid_ carried had much more comprehensive sensor equipment than the lateral array, and better still, had not been affected by the power failure. 

"No," Ryan decided, "we'll know plenty soon enough. You haven't found any lifesigns, or anything?" 

One more scan revealed only a little more. "Nope. That I am sure of. Just a lot of man-made alloys. And no discernible power emanations. What ever is down there is dead, dead, dead." After the incident in Sickbay, he didn't feel adding the moon had virtually no breathable air to support any life. At least the kind that traveled in ships. 

A whoosh sounded behind the station, and a breathless George Aston crammed in next to Danny. "Whatcha got?" he asked, his wet hair dripping on the console. "I don't cut shart a shower fer just anythin'." 

"Duranium," Ryan supplied. "Lots of it. No lifesigns, but it still might be a ship." He pointed out the scan results to George. "Feel like an away mission?" 

George eyed the First Officer. "Shoot, yeh. You told Cap'n yet? And I'll need Danny, here." 

Ryan paused a moment. "You better take someone from engineering as well. Bridge to Mr. Kim, report to Transport Room 2, full vacuum protocol." With a wink to George, he added, "and keep them out of trouble." 

_Thy superior officer giveth, and he taketh away. I shall remember that lesson, Mr. Ryan._ Danny quickly shut down the console, but not before saving the scan readings. With a look from George, he grinned and followed the Texan into the turbolift. It was after the doors had closed, and the car had dropped two floors, that he let out a loud "YES!"

* * *

***Well, Sparky, it shore is a ship. 'Bout thirty, forty years old, Ah reckun. Gee, would ya look at that!***

"Look at what?" Pretar prompted. He had just arrived in his Ready Room and headed straight for the replicator, dressed in a loose pullover. Richie was already on the sofa, feet propped up on the table. This was the easiest solution. Richie didn't feel that Pretar needed to show up on the Bridge, in full uniform, just for this. Pretar had countered with the inappropriateness of Richie deserting the Bridge and meeting in the Captain's Quarters. So they had compromised. 

The Betazoid wished either the replicator or George would hurry up. The coffee beat the Texan, but only marginally. He sipped the drink as he made his way over to the Immortal. 

***It's a freighter, Cap'n. Hull breech is smack dab in the cargo hold. Big'un, too. This baby probably depressurized instantly.***

"Still no sign of any crew?" Richie asked, accepting the second cup. "Or maybe what ship it is?" 

***Naw, not yet. Wait a minute. This here's the bridge. It's pretty tore up. Yep, Ah found... Uh, why don't you boys wait back thar a bit?***

Richie raised an eyebrow in Pretar's direction during that particular snippet of conversation. "What did you find George?" 

***Two men. At least Ah thank so. The whole front is caved inta the rock. No decomposition. And cause ah death is definitely suckin' space. Ah didn't thank the boys needed ta see this.***

"Probably right, Mr. Aston," Pretar offered. The hot coffee had suddenly lost its taste. "Tag the bodies, and we'll beam them over for the doctor." The Betazoid stared out at the black stars. _Things can certainly take a turn for the worse._

_{They can at that,}_ Richie offered, finishing his drink. "George, see if you can find a log or something." He flashed Pretar a look that usually meant 'do you want anything else done?' The Betazoid shook his head, letting his CO handle it. "Ryan to Sickbay. Julia, I've got two corpses coming in, autopsies. I need official cause of death as soon as possible." 

***We're ready down here, Rich. Doc Simmons just walked in.***

"Good," Richie said toward the ceiling. "Transporter Room, two bodies to Sickbay. George? Grab what you can and bring the Lost Boys home. We'll let Sonya go over it with a fine tooth comb." He added a wink to Pretar. "Hurry up. You're an hour late to relieve me at watch, and I ain't waiting." 

***Pushy, pushy, pushy. Ah thank Harry just found somethin'. Be right thar. Away team out.***

Pretar stood and walked over to the wall. "And I have about another four hours of sleep, as well." He set his empty cup back in the replicator, watching the invisible technology whisk away the dirty dishes. "Call me if anything pops up." 

"Will do," Richie added, as the Betazoid left by the side door.

* * * * * * *

It was one thing to see holodeck simulations, another to actually be standing in the middle of such carnage. George knew the sinking feeling would get worse the longer he stayed. And this was positively something that Danny and Harry should be spared. "Nice work," the Texan said as Harry showed up with what appeared to be a memory core. "Why don't ya'll check the back part, see if'n there's anythang vital back there. And double check tha engine's are off-line." That would keep them busy. Taking a deep breath, he went forward again.

From what the Texan could tell, the ship had been hulled, probably by a meteor. Both bodies were strapped into the chairs. The most likely scenario was that they crash landed on the moon. Then, trapped between the rock surface and the back of the forward compartment, they watched as the air leaked out. It was not a calm death, and that was reflected on their faces. 

Shaken, he hastily attached the two transponders to the bodies. Then he pressed a button on his tricorder, opening a comlink. "Two bodies to beam aboard. Direct ta Sickbay. You don't wanna be seein' this, Gehbor." 

***Understood. Prepare for transport.***

The whine barely penetrated the environmental suit, then the bodies were gone, no longer a concern for George. "Aston to Bird, ya'll ready yet?"

* * *

"Early breakfast?" Richie asked as he sat down next to Sonya. This early in the ship's "morning", the mess hall was virtually deserted. Not that Richie needed any excuse to sit with a fellow officer. Especially one as lovely as the Chief Engineer. 

Sonya swallowed, then quickly wiped the stray milk from her mouth. "Since someone stumbled over a derelict at three a.m..... Really, Rich. Couldn't you have waited another couple of hours? I'm missing my beauty sleep!" The Immortal opened his mouth to reply, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm really not in the mood. I just saw Kim. He's so pale he looks positively Caucasian." 

"It was bad," Richie acknowledged, settling for toast and jam this late at night. Right now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, but that wasn't going to happen for a while. "Hulled, then crashed, then decompressed. Space puree." 

The tinkling of Sonya's spoon in her bowl stopped. "George said he eyeballed it at thirty to fifty years old. That will be interesting to examine. Being in a vacuum, all the crucial parts should be intact." 

"Yeah, what didn't crumble in the crash. All we need is probable cause, and then let's send it in and get out of here." All the delays were getting on the Immortal's nerves. _This was just supposed to be a simple shakedown cruise. The Love Boat._

***Goodwin to Gomez. You won't believe what we found where one of the bodies had been.***

Sonya looked annoyed at the ceiling. "I'll bite. What interesting and bizarre tidbit did you find next to one of the bodies?" She played with her silverware, not even curious. After being on the _Enterprise_ , this was apparently boring. 

***Two feet of cold steel. The computer identified it as a long sword of some kind.***

The sinking feeling in Richie's gut was only partially caused by what he was hearing. Somewhere nearby, an Immortal was coming back from death. _One of those "bodies" is an Immortal. There's an Immortal loose on the friggin' ship. SHIT!_ Richie jumped up, knocking over his chair. Sonya let out a startled gasp, and watched as he raced out of the room.

* * * * * * *

It took five minutes to get from Deck Two to Sickbay, most of which was waiting for a turbolift. The Immortal sprinted down the corridor, knowing he was probably already too late. Even if the Immortal was swordless, there was a lot of damage he could do, to innocent mortals and the ship alike. Richie put on the brakes in front of the Sickbay doors, long enough for his presence to register on the sensors. The doors parted, and he stepped forward...

> **_2107 A.D. -- Outskirts of Seacouver, Earth_**
> 
> _...as Adam Pierson's face appeared in the doorway. "Ohmygod -- Richie Ryan!" The other Immortal's visage was frozen in shock, the wheels spinning madly behind fathomless eyes. Or so it seemed to Richie._
> 
> _"Hello, Adam," he said as he shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder. He really didn't know what he was doing here. His stomach was in knots, and had been ever since he arrived in orbit. But he had to try. He owed Duncan at least that much. Though by now it seemed everything was against him. The washed out road to the Highlander's new address, the weather. And now Adam._
> 
> _The dark haired Immortal quickly opened the screen door. "Come in, come in. It's pouring down rain. I didn't know you were even on Earth. Your last letter said...well, never mind." Adam stood to the side as Richie entered. Once in the house, he let the bag fall from his shoulder and gave an audible sigh of relief._
> 
> _"This is more than a social call. There's something I need to talk to Mac about.... I've resigned my position at the Vulcan Science Academy and I'm moving back to Earth. Permanently. I thought as a Watcher you'd keep track of all of us?" Richie wondered. He shook out the arm and worked the shoulder, trying to stretch out the kinks. He hadn't expected to walk from the highway, but the taxi couldn't handle the mud. "Or have you stopped playing that little game?"_
> 
> _Adam smiled, with just a hint of feral grin to make the younger Immortal edgy. "I never could stand aging make-up. No, ole' Adam-the-Watcher is very much retired. And after Joe...." There was an uncomfortable silence as his dark eyes saddened._
> 
> _Richie had to admit that despite his flaws, Adam had cared for Joe. "I stopped by the cemetery before coming out. I was sorry to miss the funeral." It really hadn't come as a surprise. At 157 years of age, the Watcher's body just stopped working._
> 
> _A brief flash of sympathy crossed Adam's face, softening it. His voice was likewise soft and gentle. "He knew you were there, in spirit. Duncan was the one who needed you. We've kinda wondered if you were ever going to show your face."_
> 
> _It seemed callous, but Richie just shrugged. "I couldn't get away," was all he said. The last thing he wanted to do was travel down that path with Adam right now. It was time to change the subject. "Look, I'm sweaty and grimy and soaked. Think I could borrow a shower? And where's Mac?"_
> 
> _Again, Adam abruptly changed. He absently shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I'm terribly sorry, I'm not being a very good host." Once the front door was shut, Adam reached down and grabbed Richie's bag. "Duncan is in town getting groceries. Did you walk from the highway?"_
> 
> _Richie followed him down a hallway to a set of stairs going up. "Yep. All five miles." Their feet echoed on the wooden steps as they climbed to the second story. Adam was already at the first door, open to a small guest room._
> 
> _"Bathroom across the hall, towels under the sink." Adam gestured out a window into the woods. "There's a back road next time. But I would suggest a four wheel drive in any case." The dark haired Immortal set down the bag and turned to leave. "Oh," he added, leaning around the frame and looking ever so much the graduate student he had pretended to be. "When you come down, bring your sword. I'd like to take a look at it if I may."_
> 
> _Richie hardly blinked. "Sure," he answered, moving the bag from the floor to the bed. For the last century, he had been hoping to "spar" with Adam, but they never seemed to get the chance. It was as if Duncan kept trying to stop them. Well, maybe today would be the day._
> 
> _* * * * * * *_
> 
> _Cool place," Richie commented as he motioned around the open living room. The decor wasn't the usual masculine aura that MacLeod favored. There was something softer, older, influencing the surroundings. "You and Mac?" he asked, unsure how to approach the private subject._
> 
> _Adam looked Richie straight in the eye. "Yes." As if that was all the young Immortal was going to get. "Duncan handled most of the renovating and heavy labor. I did the small jobs. Supervised, that sort of thing." He noticed the rapier in Richie's hand. "May I?"_
> 
> _Playing the guest, Richie handed it over. "So, you live here?"_
> 
> _"For a bit," the other replied, holding up the blade to examine it. "Life with MacLeod is never dull. I need that right now." Richie grinned at the truth of the statement. "Nice weight, by the way," Adam commented. "The balance is a little forward...." With ease, the Immortal swung it in front of him, ending up with a nice chest slice on a phantom opponent._
> 
> _Richie stood to the side, watching. "I liked it that way," he replied. "I never really got into Mac's style. This way, it was easier to go straight into another move." It was rare, getting a chance to talk about swords with another expert. Most swordsmen were the Sunday afternoon variety, regulation this, scoring system that and "oh, I have a paper cut, time out." There was nothing better than talking shop with a person who lived and died by a sword._
> 
> _"You're using the past tense," Adam pointed out. He looked at Richie over his shoulder for a second before continuing his shadow fight. "So what Duncan told me was true, you've given up."_
> 
> _"Let's just say I try and stay away from other Immortals," Richie corrected, more than a little pissed that MacLeod was still passing on their private conversations._
> 
> _Adam swung around. "Not even when they are holding a sword to your throat?" Richie's blade was anchored just under his chin, ready to slice into his vulnerable neck. "What do you do then, Richie Ryan? Duncan thinks you'll give up. Would it be that easy?" The face was still the same charming visage, but now the eyes were of a cold blooded killer._
> 
> _It was the moment Richie had been waiting for, the move of betrayal. He was partially thankful it had happened to him and not the Highlander. Maybe the nightmares had been a warning of what he had to prevent. Either way, Adam would no longer be a threat to Duncan. "Like anything else," he said, stepping back, "play to win." The sword stayed at his throat as Adam followed. He dropped his voice to a soft whisper to try and draw the other Immortal closer. "I've been waiting for you to make your move. Took you long enough."_
> 
> _Adam fell for the bait. The other Immortal stepped closer, matching the whisper. "You have no idea," Adam added, a mass of emotions mixed in with the words. They were chest to chest now, Richie's sword pulling his chin up. But the last step put Adam into range._
> 
> _The young Immortal counted the years he had been cursed with the vision of his friend's death. "I do," Richie replied, snapping his knee into Adam's crotch. As the blade fell away from his neck, he rolled to the side, rising to his feet in the middle of the room. Adam was on the ground, somehow still clutching Richie's sword. Most people unconsciously let go. "Keep it," Richie hissed, "you'll need it." He pranced around, loosening up, waiting for Adam to stand._
> 
> _"That wasn't very nice," Adam gasped, looking more amused than frightened. But he was still enshrouded with a dangerous aura._
> 
> _"No, it wasn't," Richie agreed as he kicked out, aiming for Adam's arm. They fought, long and hard. Neither asked nor expected any quarter. Richie did an excellent job defending himself from Adam's attacks. The other Immortal didn't press too hard at first, but when nothing got through, he stepped up his onslaught. The fight turned more serious, and deadly. It was harder for Richie to not get cut. And Duncan's furniture wasn't doing much better._
> 
> _By bizarre luck, a chance strike connected with Richie's neck, his own sword digging a few millimeters into his skin. It wasn't supposed to be a beheading blow, and that was the only thing that saved Richie's head. Adam jerked the steel back, coated with red blood, the same that seeped down Richie's skin. The younger Immortal put a hand to the wound, feeling the hot, wet blood coat his fingers. "This ends now," he said through clenched teeth._
> 
> _Adam didn't look worried or scared, just cold and calculating. The other Immortal tried an attack on Richie's weak side, but he was ready. Using a move he had learned on Vulcan, he disarmed Adam, knocked the wind out of him, and retrieved his sword at the same time. The follow through positioned the sword above Adam's defenseless neck, waiting for the killing blow._
> 
> _"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Duncan's voice blasted from the front door. His katana was drawn, and his face was filled with horror. Richie paused and lowered his rapier. Duncan walked over and grabbed the young Immortal's arm._
> 
> _"Mac!" Richie exclaimed as he was dragged from the house._
> 
> _The Highlander was furious by the time he got Richie out on the porch. He released his former student with a jerk, almost making Richie stumble. "You don't attack defenseless Immortals, you don't go after my friends, and you sure as hell don't trash my house!"_
> 
> _"He came after me," Richie yelled back. He was gesturing, his blade swinging wildly in the air. "With my own god damn sword. He started it!"_
> 
> _The Highlander grabbed the rapier out of Richie's hand, throwing it off the porch to the ground. He was in Richie's face, spittle flying. "And you were going to finish it! Do you have any idea what you were about to do? He was just goading you into defending yourself! And you're ready to take off his head!"_
> 
> _"How the HELL am I supposed to know that," Richie screamed, his face bright red. "No one will tell me what the FUCK is going on!" Some chord was struck, something changed in Duncan's eyes. It made Richie even madder because he had no clue what it was. But somehow, some way, he knew Adam did._
> 
> _"I can't," the Highlander curtly replied._
> 
> _That wasn't good enough. "Can't, or won't? Do you really trust me, Mac?" Richie asked through clenched teeth. Duncan only stared back in silence. "I don't take kindly to having a sword at my neck, no matter who holds it. That's a challenge in my book. And I'll defend myself. Against any of you." Duncan wouldn't meet his eyes. "You've already written me off as dead," Richie realized._
> 
> _"You don't fight, you die. Adam was trying to show you that!"_
> 
> _"I'm a little old for show and tell!"_
> 
> _"That's the way we are," Duncan shot back, seething now._
> 
> _"The way you are, Mac," Richie said. "I came to talk to you, believe it or not. I guess I got my answers." He turned and stormed off the porch into the rain and mud, bending down to retrieve his sword. Then he kept walking, leaving behind all his other possessions. The porch creaked as Duncan stepped forward to catch him._
> 
> _"Let him go," Adam called from inside. The creaking stopped._
> 
> _Damn Pierson for sticking his nose in. And damn Duncan MacLeod for listening. The memory of Paris rose unbidden from his subconscious. Somewhere deep in Richie's heart, he knew caring about the Highlander had been his biggest mistake._

Richie and Adam both started as they stood face to face in the Sickbay doorway. Inside the room, Julia and Dr. Simmons were unconscious on the floor. Adam reacted first, pulling a small laser scalpel and pointing it at Richie. The younger Immortal replied instantaneously and irrevocably. Grabbing a handful of Adam's shirt, he turned them both around, shoving Adam's body backward into the wall control panel. Richie enjoyed the sickening crunch as the clear polymer was broken on impact. And just to make sure, Richie butted his forehead into Adam's face. He was rewarded by a load moan and the sight of Adam's body crumpling to the floor.

* * *

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Adam asked. "The last thing I remember was seeing my partner's face bug out, and then I'm on a table with a laser scalpel heading toward my chest." He settled back in his chair at the conference table, glaring at the officers around it. 

Dr. Simmons leaned forward. "I can understand Nurse Everett fainting. After all, dead bodies usually don't sit up and ask the time of day." He glanced over at Richie and added, "present company excluded, of course." That made the blond Immortal blush. "But to nerve pinch me, for heaven's sake...." 

Adam stiffened. "You were coming at me with a laser!" 

"That's what doctors do during autopsies!" countered Dr. Simmons. 

_{He's doing this on purpose,}_ Pretar informed Richie. _{He's actively trying to provoke Jarvis.}_

_I wouldn't be surprised_ , Richie thought back. _Are you reading him? All I get is this overwhelming noise._ That was one of the reasons Richie had hung back in the meeting so far. Ever since he calmed down earlier, he noticed Adam had a very strong mental presence. Not telepathic, and not something the Immortal had run into before. 

Pretar slipped a small smile across the table. _{Not a chance. He's not shielding, but I can't do more than verify he's there. It's like there's a very large crowd where he's sitting. A lot of energy.}_

Richie risked a glance toward the other end of the table. Dr. Simmons was almost frothing. _I feel like I'm standing next to a very large container of unstable antimatter. Nothing physical, just an overwhelming sense of dread._

_{I think you're projecting your own feelings there, Rich.}_ "Gentlemen," Pretar intruded, cutting into the continuing argument. "This will take us nowhere. We agree that Mr. Pierson, or what ever name he is going by, acted accordingly in this situation. Drop it." Dr. Simmons nodded his acceptance. Adam just sat quietly. "Good. So, what should we call you?" 

The Immortal shrugged. "Adam Pierson is as good as any other. What difference is a name?" 

Richie bit back a sarcastic reply. "So, would you tell us what happened?" he asked. He had yet to offer an apology, and Adam didn't seem to care about getting one. "And what you plan to do next." 

"That's right," Adam replied. "You're on a training mission or something. I'll just tag along like I usually do. At least until you get close to a Starbase, or something. I don't think the _Cyrus_ will be taking me anywhere soon. I won't be a bother." 

Again, Richie choked down his retort. Having Adam aboard was turning into a nightmare. _Now, he's baiting me. And doing a perfect job._

_{You are absolutely right,}_ Pretar agreed. The Betazoid gave Richie a glance across the table. _{So where's this hostility coming from? What did he do to you?}_

The dark night in Paris surfaced far enough for the memory to leak across before Richie could clamp down. _He's.... Hell, I don't know._

_{Jealousy doesn't become you, my friend,}_ Lorrict gently informed him. _{And neither does wasted anger.}_

Richie tried not to smile. _Yeah, but I'm just a product of an angry time._

Adam watched the Captain and First Officer interact. "Did I miss something?" he casually asked, looking between the two. There was a hint of interest in his hooded eyes. 

"Yes," Richie shot back, losing the bit of humor he had a second ago. George just rolled his eyes, content to watch the fireworks as they unfolded. "So, what were you doing thirty-three years ago?" The Immortal had been very surprised to find no record of "Adam Pierson" in the Federation Database. _He was probably using an alias._

_{That's nothing special,}_ Pretar intruded. _{You've had a few yourself, haven't you? Don't read threats where there are none.}_

"Sam and I...," Adam began. "Uh, Sam was my partner. We were on our way to the Pridum Colony with...." The dark haired Immortal's eyes shifted, finally resting on Captain Lorrict. "...medical supplies." He paused, giving someone a chance to interrupt. When no one did, he shrugged. "We got blind-sided by a stray asteroid." 

Pretar nodded. _{More like an Orion pirate...}_ "We found as much. Did you crash, and then die?" 

"No, we must have crashed after the air ran out." Adam fixed Richie with his gaze. "Oxygen starvation isn't a pleasant way to go." 

Richie gave back a glare of his own. " You'll have to tell me about it sometime," he commented, with a hint of smarmy cockiness. He felt Pretar send a brief flash of warning. 

"I would be interested," Dr. Simmons interjected. The Immortals reluctantly broke the eye contact. "Not to make light of your partner's death, or anything," the doctor hastily added. "But the chance to learn something...." 

Richie sat back in his chair, withdrawing from the conversation. _Pretar is right, all I'll do is make things worse._ He glanced out the large windows at the stars streaking by at warp speed. Dr. Simmons' comments echoed in his mind, drawing him farther away....

> **_2346 A.D. -- Qo'noS, Klingon Homeworld_**
> 
> _"...chance to learn something from each other, and about each other..." Sarek was saying, reading the final paragraph of the Federation's opening statement. To the side, Maggie was translating for the Klingon delegation. Since the Klingons had offered the invitation, they had spoken first. Their statement, while beautifully translated by Maggie as it was read, would need serious attention. As much as the Klingons will probably give the Federation's. "...a lasting chance for peace."_
> 
> _Sarek finished and sat at the table. No applause rang out, just muttered conversation from the other delegates. That wasn't unexpected; Klingons had other ways of showing appreciation. Only a few didn't involve blood of some kind. "Thank you," the arbiter said, nodding toward the Federation delegates. "We have much to...think about. This concludes today's meeting." With an authoritative strike of rock on table, the formal session was over._
> 
> _More talks had already been scheduled, to discuss the many points in each government's agenda. Richie was slated to attend about three fourths. Once each week, the groups would meet as a whole, to settle the points brought up in the meetings. And maybe, after everything had been dissected, discussed, modified, changed, ratified, and translated, they might walk away with a peace treaty._
> 
> _Richie stood and found himself already surrounded by Riva and his chorus. "And what do you make of their reaction, Mr. Ryan?" the aspect of Wisdom asked. Riva stood close, but sufficiently far enough away to avoid accidental contact. Ever since they first touched, and Richie fainted, they had kept apart._
> 
> _"I'm not sure," Richie replied. "They seem to be taking everything remarkably well, considering peace is a dirty word to them." The Immortal finished closing his portfolio, using it to prop up his elbow on the table. "That statement they had went a little farther than I was expecting. Somebody is pushing them, that's for sure." Richie took another look at the small clumps of Klingons, a few already into arguments. "I wonder if it's a snowjob for us, or there is someone who really wants peace behind curtain number three."_
> 
> _"Very astute, Mr. Ryan," Sarek interjected, joining the informal party. "The Klingons seem angry, but not at us. It is logical to assume they are following unpopular orders." Unlike their Federation counterparts, the Klingon delegation made no attempt to hide the fact they were mouthpieces only. The real power was in other hands. The final decisions would be made by the High Council. "It would be helpful to find out who the man behind the mirror is. I will see what our operatives here know."_
> 
> _That gave Richie pause. "You know the Starfleet Intelligence agent here? Isn't that dangerous?" It was a given that both the Klingons and Federation had spies in the other camp. But to actively contact them...._
> 
> _"Dangerous, Mr. Ryan, is not using all the means at our disposal to forge this treaty," Sarek replied. The Vulcan looked down the table, focusing on the stack of translated statements they had brought with them. Also, a few pamphlets were stacked there also, in case anyone was interested in Federation propaganda. The Klingon's paraphernalia was one spot over. "Would you be so kind as to gather up our materials?"_
> 
> _Richie turned his head and looked down at the end of the table. It was a mess. The stacks were scattered, and a few pamphlets were on the floor. "Sure..." he began. As he turned back, Riva and Sarek were gone. "...I won't be a minute." With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed his portfolio and moved to the end of the table._
> 
> _It took a moment for other noises to overpower his own muttering. He was on his knees, gathering up the loose papers on the floor. He didn't realize a body was standing next to him until it spoke. "qaSuj'a'!" It was a sharp bark, startling the Immortal. Reacting, he quickly rose, only to have his head intersect the bottom of the table._
> 
> _"Ouch!" Richie cried, sitting abruptly down on his rump again. His hand dropped the flyers and moved to his head. It hurt. "Damn." He looked up in time to see a Klingon bend over and gaze at him under the table. "Sorry, I don't know very much Klingon, yet. What did you say?"_
> 
> _The Klingon offered a hand, helping Richie stand. "I said 'am I bothering you?'" Richie found himself staring at the chest of the warrior as he placed the voice as female. The uniform was missing a palm-sized rectangle of material over the breastbone, revealing the upper curves of very full breasts. It took all the Immortal's effort to raise his head to look at the taller woman's face._
> 
> _"Uh, no," he replied, trying hard not to stutter or blush. "Thanks. I guess you startled me." Nervously, he turned back to the papers and hurriedly gathered them up. "Uh, I'll be out of your way in a minute."_
> 
> _A sharp jerk on his arm whirled him back to face the Klingon. She smiled, her mouth opening to reveal a set of rather large, sharp teeth. "You are not in my way, Human. I was sent..." Her eyes flashed. "...came over to welcome you to the Homeworld."_
> 
> _Richie knew his eyes must be bugging out. "Uh, fine. Can I ask why me?" It was rather obvious she had been set up, just as he had._
> 
> _Her eyes appraised him again as her hand tensed on his biceps. "You are...the most desirable looking I see." She stepped in closer and sniffed. This put Richie's face very close to her attributes. "Is that not how it is done on your world, Human?"_
> 
> _Richie tried to step back, but the table was in his way. "Y...yeah. I've never been hit on by such a..." The moment he said it, and her eyes sparkled, he knew he was up a creek._
> 
> _"It was...suggested that we get to know the Federation delegates...in an effort to promote good faith," she said, dropping her voice. "I'm glad I chose you. I'm sure we could learn...something from each other. Is that not what you said in your statement?"_
> 
> _Richie stopped fighting a blush. His face felt hot and flush, which only made her smile even more. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Make friends, they said. I like to make new friends...." Why did he feel like he was in high school again?_
> 
> _"jup, we call them. Friends. You have plans tonight?"_
> 
> _Her sudden change in conversation had Richie for a loss. He turned his head to the side, trying to find any help. Over at the far end of the hall, Riva and Sarek were watching the incident with intensity. The Immortal almost thought he saw Riva nod ever so slightly. "Uh, no," he said when he turned back. "What did you have in mind?"_
> 
> _It was her turn to look at the Klingon delegates. Richie couldn't tell if any signal was passed. It was difficult to tell anything other than her hard muscled body was pressing into his, and the table end was creasing his butt. The pain mixed with the pleasure and danger, making his face flush even hotter. That wasn't his only reaction._
> 
> _"Have you heard any Klingon opera?" she asked suddenly. She moved back slightly, relieving the pressure forcing him into the table. "My brother is premiering one of his new works tonight, at the Emperor's amphitheater." Her breathing increased, which only made her breasts swell more. "It will be dark and emotional, Human. We both may enjoy it." To emphasis her point, she pressed her crotch into his side._
> 
> _It had been a while since Richie had blown a gasket, but today he was getting awfully close. "The name's Richie. Richie Ryan. I...I didn't get yours."_
> 
> _"B'Erell," she breathed, stretching the word into five long seconds. "I'll call your ship when it is time." Reluctantly, she stepped away, her breathing returning to normal. "Wear something a little less military, Human. And disposable." With one last tooth-filled grin, she turned and strolled out of the meeting hall, all eyes on her._
> 
> _Richie turned back to the scattered papers. His wiggling hadn't helped them get organized. "I just love making friends. jup. I just love making jup. Luckily, I won't die from exhaustion. jup. Gotta love 'em."_

"Jup, Sparky?" George asked. Richie jerked in his chair. He was sitting in the conference room, and everyone was looking at him. "What duz that haveta do with this Adam fella?"

The other Immortal was absent, leaving only the _Intrepid_ 's senior staff. "Nothing," Richie gushed. This was starting to get embarrassing. "I was thinking out loud." 

"Well, gentlemen," Pretar said. The Betazoid was sitting at the head of the table. "Is it safe for him to be aboard? For us and him." He focused on Richie. _{And would you care to tell me what's going on?}_

The Immortal stood. "It should be fine, Captain. He wouldn't cause any trouble to the ship. If you'll excuse me?" He turned to leave. _Later, Petey. I want to be alone right now._

"Fine," Pretar responded as the Immortal left.

* * *

"So, is this seat taken?" Adam asked as he walked up to Richie in the mess hall the next day. The blond looked up from his padd, hesitant. They would be entering the Braslota system that afternoon, and he wasn't looking for any added pressure. Adam almost flinched under his gaze. "Boy, you're really into this non-verbal communicating. Does that look mean yes or no?" 

It bothered Richie that Adam had one hand behind his back. He wasn't holding a sword, at least not in any way Richie could imagine. The Starfleet officer took the cautious approach. "What do you want?" 

"I talked to Duncan last night," Adam informed him, taking a seat anyway. Lucky for him it was directly across the table. "He was surprised I was with you. You may want to give him a call sometime. He'd like to hear from you." 

Richie raised a warning finger. "Butt out." 

Adam oozed sincerity. "I'm just trying to help. Pardon me for caring." He reached over and grabbed Richie's wrist. "He's my friend too, you know." 

"It's real hard to forget that," Richie replied. He jerked his wrist free from Adam's grasp. "You still haven't answered my question. What do you want?" 

The other Immortal rolled his eyes. "I have a way to settle our differences. Mano a mano." 

"Huh?" 

"Man to man," Adam explained. 

Richie had had enough of this madness. He started to gather up his notes, stacking the padds. "I told you, I don't do sword fights, I don't care to settle our differences, and I especially don't want to play with you again." 

"Who said anything about swords?" Adam asked. He tossed the mysterious object on the table. "Phasers. Nice, neat, and neither of us gets hurt. Well, not permanently. What do you say?" 

"No." 

It seemed Adam didn't know the word. "Well, then, how about camping? A little fishing. Like on the island. Male bonding type stuff...."


	4. Chapter 4

_What the hell was I thinking_ , Richie wondered. He was already pacing the holodeck. _Can I trust him? Damn, I wish I had a sword._

The doors opened just as Richie stiffened, and Adam walked in. He was dressed all in black. He eyed Richie. "Right on time. Ready to begin?"

"And what exactly are we beginning?" Richie wondered aloud. He gestured to Pierson's outfit. "Or do you just like to dress up this way?" 

Adam smiled. "Touché." Richie really hated it when Adam smiled. There was just something sinister way down deep in that one. "I thought you might like to try something a little more aggressive. Big game hunting? Interested?" The older Immortal was posed like a graceful cat as he tossed one of the phasers to Richie. 

_He really is a sneaky little bastard.. That's probably why no one has kicked his scrawny little butt._ "Sure," Richie replied. _It's not like I said 'no' a hundred times already._

"Computer," Adam called out. "Initiate holoprogram Starfleet Intelligence Omega One." 

***Loading Starfleet Intelligence Field Training Program Omega One. This is a restrictive program. This program must be initiated by a Level Alpha Five or above. This program is for Intelligence Operative use only.***

"That's strange," Adam said. Richie just gave him a quizzical look. "It's never needed a security code before. Computer, recognize Preston, Michael. Security code Hosanna, hesana." The computer beeped to signal the program's readiness. 

***Warning. Holodeck safeties disengaged. Warning. Holodeck safeties disengaged.***

"What the hell..." Richie muttered as he was suddenly plunged into darkness. His words echoed like they were in a cavern, or tunnel. He set his phaser on low and felt for a rock. A quick burst and the rock glowed a soft red. The tunnel stretched right and left, both branching off a few yards away. A lighted globe sped toward him from up the corridor. "Adam?" he asked. It flew right past him, heading left at the first branch. As it passed, it fired at the pair, but missed. 

A phaser shot echoed from beside him. "Got it." Adam gestured both ways. "Any preference?" Richie started down the passage, turning left. "You may want to watch out for..." Adam's warning came to late. Intent on the other Immortal, Richie failed to look down. He stepped forward onto an open hole. His foot never landed, and he found himself tumbling forward. 

"Arrgggh," Richie cursed, managing to snag the lip of the pit with one hand. "Nasty little program," he commented as he drew himself up. A phaser blast hit the ground just inches in front of his face. A globe had been waiting for them, sneaking up behind Adam. "Eat this," he spat, shooting the target. It exploded in a very satisfactory bang. 

After quite a walk, the air grew humid and muggy. A soft light came from ahead of them, signaling the way out. "And you SI guys do this for fun?" Richie asked, feeling hot and sweaty and drained. Adam was in the same boat as they finally stepped into the light. 

"I think I may have started the advanced program," Adam offered. He laughed at his own joke as Richie glared at him. "Live a little, Richie. After all, this won't kill you." 

The tunnel ended opening into a jungle setting. Loud tropical birds called just out of sight, their cries muted in the damp forest. Little critters scurried in the underbrush, shaking small trees and shrubs as they passed. 

Instead of being shot at by small spheres, they were stalked by humanoids, armed with phasers. The pair of Immortals ambushed a small group, succeeding in catching them by surprise. The last of Richie's opponents managed to return fire before being killed. Pain scorched the Immortal's side where the blast hit. "Oh, god," he screamed as he fell, clutching his side. 

Adam appeared from somewhere, looking totally frazzled. "Here, let me look at it." Richie's uniform was melted away where the shot had brushed his side. The skin underneath was slowly mending itself, but it still hurt. 

"Shit," Richie cursed. He looked up at Adam, partially in shock. "What the hell have you done?" With the other Immortal's help, he managed to stand. His breathing became easier as the wound healed itself. 

Adam looked as contrite as Richie had ever seen him. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on. This wasn't like this...damn, thirty years ago. Look, you still haven't been damaged permanently, and I think we only have...well, I don't know how long this program runs. 

"No shit? You win, man. I give. Computer, I surrender. Stop the program." Getting shot at with live phasers by fucking targets while trapped on the holodeck with a maniacal Immortal was not what Richie had planned for the day. Not even close. 

***That option is not available for this program.***

Back talk from a computer never made Richie's day. "Computer, end program." The computer beeped but nothing happened. "Computer, open the doors." Nothing. "Computer. Arch!" Still nothing. "Richie to Pretar." Silence. "Richie to bridge." No answer. "Richie to...Fuck! What's going on?" 

Adam was worried. Even a non-Betazoid like Richie could tell that. And he wasn't faking. "I don't know, Richie. I honestly don't know. But it's not like they're after our heads...." 

"Phaser fire can kill us, man," Richie informed him. He mentally contacted Pretar before turning to Adam. "Petey's gonna get us out of this, but it may take some time. We need to lay low." 

The other Immortal held out his arm, helping Richie to stand. They made their way into the brush, almost tripping when they stepped on asphalt. The jungle ended and changed to an urban setting. Not a pleasant day in the park, but a dark, disturbed nightmare with fires in the streets, overturned cars, and unmistakable sound of gangs roaming the area. "Come on, we need to take shelter in one of the buildings. We can finish this if we stick together." 

"No way," Richie gasped, pushing Adam away. "I've had enough of your games. As far as I'm concerned, you put another sword to my neck, and I sure as hell don't appreciate it." He was still clutching his side as he moved away. "You're on your own, Adam." He limped down the street, the small fires throwing devilish shadows against the building walls. An Algerian botthmarc jumped him at the end of the block, but in his rage, Richie plowed right over him. He kept firing until the animal was nothing more than a pool of slag on the street. Looking at what was left of the ooze and carbon scorching, he spat into it, then turned to the growing dusk. "Come and get me you bastards."

* * * * * * * *

Methos watched as Richie struggled down the street. The oldest Immortal debated following after, to secretly help the youngster. Prudence won out. Trying to help each other out would only expose them to more danger. He didn't realize phasers could kill an Immortal nowadays. That was something Methos wanted to avoid.

He lucked out finding three snipers in an abandoned shop, hiding in the aisles. Three quick blasts, and another for the fourth that barreled in the door to catch him off guard, brought him a brief moment of rest. "Where are you, you little buggers," he whispered. A shot caught him in the leg, sending waves of agony up his body. He fell to the ground, unable to crawl to safety. Sudden phaser fire on the rooftops drew his attention. Then a dark shape was thrown off the roof. 

It wasn't until the body landed and bounced, that Methos got a good look. One of the dangerous species in the universe, a Denarian mercenary. "YOU OWE ME," came the shouted call from above. Richie's voice was crazed with hysteria. 

Methos snuck down the street and turned a corner. He found himself in the middle of something out of a Eugenic War movie. The ancient Immortal thought it a sad parallel to the real horror. This holoprogram left out the whimpers and moans of the dying that writhed about as the living continued to fight. These lay there, silently. Luckily, or maybe the design of some sadistic holoengineer, the canteens contained cool, fresh water. Methos was able to collect enough to dump over his aching head. That really helped improve his outlook. 

He hadn't expected this level of carnage. Hell, he hadn't expected anything remotely dangerous. When he was an operative, this had been a pleasant little program to prove one's prowess. Now it was something akin to a life and death struggle. _Or a cleverly disguised 'accidental' murder._ _That's why the high level security override. Damn, I should have realized something was buggered when it asked for one._

After an hour, Methos was on edge. Still no rescue, still no end in sight. He still hadn't caught a glimpse of Richie in the last thirty minutes or so, but the younger Immortal must certainly be keeping up. The street he had been following emptied out into the jungle again. Methos found out how deadly the program was when one of the characters he was following, a large Gorn, accidentally stepped on a trip wire. The swinging stakes took him out, one puncturing his cardiac membrane. _At least these things have the same troubles we do. These little surprises can do our work for us._

"Arrrrrrr...." Richie's faint scream cut through the humid night air. It came from somewhere to Methos' left, jarring the Immortal into action. He dove into the brush, managing to come face to face with a surprised enemy. A good kick to the face, followed by a phaser shot to the gut took care of it. But try as he might, Methos never found the young Immortal. Only some blood. 

_Damn. Duncan's gonna have my bloody stupid head when he hears of this._ Concerned with his own survival, and that of the other Immortal, Methos quickly finished off the group he had been tailing. For the first time since things had started, he was alone. And then it happened. 

It was howl, loud and strong. It not only echoed in the night air, but vibrated deep in the millennia old Immortal. _Klingon_ , he readily identified. Methos was surprised. Not one of his opponents had been Klingon. His quick glance at recent history had shown the Federation-Klingon treaty, so he had assumed the holocharacters had been changed to reflect the new friendly attitude. _So how did Richie come across one?_ Still, the inhuman howl gave Methos the chills. 

He was given another ten minutes of peace before he was found. This one was also familiar, but in a different way. It was Kesla of Deneb II, a sadistic mass murderer. _So they're using real homicidal lunatics for this program. Great. Just what I need. Not like facing the real ones were a snap._

Another scream sounded, only this one was more animalistic. Phaser fire occurred, close by. Methos found himself running toward the fight, stumbling through the dense underbrush. He soon came across a clearing, finding a dead Romulan. This one he didn't recognize, but the neck had been neatly snapped and the throat caved in, probably by a hand chop. _Klingon style, as well. What's going on?_

Methos found an answer, but not to his question. A large Talarian jumped him from the brush. The pair rolled on the ground until Methos could reach his phaser. The shot went off as the large humanoid drove a knife into the Immortal's sternum, nicking a lung. It hurt to breathe as Methos struggled to stand, knowing there were still more assassins roaming around. _Deal with those first,_ he told himself. _Then help Richie._

The rest were easy kills. While they may have been the worst the Federation could offer, none could compare to the Immortal's five thousand years of cunning and stealth, honed against some of the finest hunters on Earth. He debated trying to find Richie once the last opponent was taken care of. _This may have been easy for me, but how in the Goddess did Richie survive? If he even did._ Methos' decision was made for him. 

***Program override established. Canceling program.***

The holographic forest vanished, replaced by the orderly yellow grid. Methos was near a wall, Richie lying on the floor dead center. It was easy to tell he had difficulty breathing. "Richie, I didn't..." Methos began as he hurried over, bending down to the other Immortal's side. He looked bad. His face was covered in blood, and his uniform was gone from the waist up. Only tattered remains hung at his mid-section. _Damn. He painted his face with blood. His own blood._

Once he was near enough, Richie grabbed Methos' shirt, dragging the Immortal closer. With a snarl, the Starfleet officer jerked him over, using both knees to toss him across the floor. Methos slid into a wall and just lay there in shock. The young Immortal struggled to his feet, his breathing still labored. Shakily, he stood and glared at Methos. "Fuck...you...." The two words were a painful effort, costing Richie dearly. He still managed to limp to the exit, which opened at his approach. Outside, a group of Federation engineers started to enter, but the sight of the First Officer approaching froze them cold. 

Methos watched him leave, deciding he had made a colossal mistake. And a gross underestimation.

* * *

> **Captain's Log, Stardate 46275.8. We've reached the Braslota system without further difficulties. My First Officer has requested a day off, which I have granted. We begin hull stress tests in the morning. Just another day at the office. End entry.**
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> **Personal Log, Stardate 46275.9. The first thing I saw was a stranger. I looked into Richie's eyes, and I swear I didn't know the man that was there. He's made no effort to talk, or even acknowledge my mental contacts. He said he wanted to be alone. I'm finding it hard to follow my friend's wishes.**
> 
> **Adam on the other hand seems genuinely upset it happened. He admits the program he thought he started was not that violent. It was supposed to be a simple outdoor program, not a field operative's nightmare. Still, he promises not to explore any more holoprograms until he's off the ship. I told him that was pretty smart. He just smiled at me, with that secretive little smile of his, and asked me to dinner. I must add he's kind of attractive, in a boyish sort of way. But I'll go with Richie on this one. He's not to be trusted.**

Richie was finding it impossible to sleep. The adrenaline rush still had not worn off, and his body jumped at each imagined noise. To survive today, he had called upon old instincts and training. He was finding it difficult to bury them again. When the Nausicaan had jumped him on the holodeck, he remembered screaming, but only a Klingon howl had sounded. War, death, blood, fighting. When would it ever end?

The Immortal ripped the cover sheet off his sweating body, throwing an arm over his forehead as he lay on the bed. He closed his eyes, but still heard the jungle's sounds. Smelled the damp, humid air. _What the hell did Adam think he was doing?_

Angry and frustrated, he tossed on the bed. What he wanted now was a long, slow session of hot sex. For a moment, he considered calling Sonya and asking her. There was always a small chance she would say yes. The cadets were off limits, for obvious reasons. There was no way he would return to the holodeck. _What I need is a large, athletic woman..._

> **_2346 A.D. -- Qo'noS, Klingon Homeworld_ **
> 
> _...on top of him, her hand pinioning his wrists above his head. B'Erell straddled his naked torso and ran her free hand down his skin. She smiled as he wiggled, trying to escape. Part of him was dying for this, the other terrified of what was happening._
> 
> _Their date had begun innocently enough. He had been in his cabin, trying on shirts when she called as promised. Settling for a green silk top, he grabbed the first pair of loose black trousers in the drawer. His Starfleet uniform boots completed the outfit. Within minutes he beamed down to the surface, ready for his first taste of Klingon opera._
> 
> _B'Erell was waiting for him. She was wearing tight black leather and plenty of fishnet, or at least the Klingon equivalent. His reaction was twofold. His jaw dropped as he gapped at the tight curves of leather and flesh, and his loose pants became not so loose. Richie expected to see her holding a bullwhip, not a hefty wicker basket. She growled her approval as she approached, taking in his outfit._
> 
> _"Something's not quite right," she commented, grabbing his shirt. With a jerk, she neatly split the halves down to his navel, the buttons flying off. "Better," she critiqued as she ran a hand down his newly exposed skin. "Ready, Human?"_
> 
> _The urge to run mixed with a moment of panic almost made him grab his shirt and hold it closed. It had been a while since he had met such an aggressive date, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. Then there was a small lusty voice nagging him to enjoy it, and lose himself in the hedonistic pleasure. It was the arrival of her ground car that decided it. Tonight he would 'go with the flow' and see what happened._
> 
> _The opera was interesting. It was full of discordant shrieks and clashing harmonies that set him on edge. The plot was convoluted, so much that B'Erell stopped trying to explain it. Instead, she spent the evening moving closer as they lay on the grass. It seemed opera made her frisky. A quick check around showed other couples engaging in equally erotic behavior. Apparently, Klingon opera was an accepted form of foreplay._
> 
> _By the brief intermission, B'Erell had started running her hand across his chest, pulling his shirt off his shoulders to bare his entire torso. At one point, he had lain back on his elbows, his feet splayed out near their picnic supper. He threw his head back in ecstasy while her hand explored his body. He made the mistake of trying to return the favor. A snarl from her, and he returned to a passive state._
> 
> _It was during the requisite battle scene that she had poured wine over his skin, following it with her tongue as she lapped the alcohol up. Every now and then she bit his flesh with her sharp teeth, finally causing him to groan. By the time the climax of battle was reached, every inch of his skin had been licked dry. As the orchestra crashed and the lead tenor howled his victory cry, her mouth reached his, conquering it for herself. Richie submitted as his air ran out, his mind light-headed and his body on automatic. Sharp fingernails drug over his stomach caused him to gasp into her kiss. A chuckle answered deep in her throat._
> 
> _They had relocated to her bedroom, the rest of his clothes fodder for her violent destruction. She was on top of his naked form, in her bed, pinning him down and ravishing him. Richie was certainly not complaining._
> 
> _She bit him randomly, obviously enjoying his body as it tensed and thrust in reaction. Chuckling, she drew out each moment, wringing every delicious shudder from both their forms. Frustrated, Richie tried to join their bodies or throw her off, anything to end the overwhelming torment she caused. Or was it euphoric rapture? The Immortal couldn't tell if he was enjoying it, or hating it, or both._
> 
> _Her teeth sank deep into his shoulder, drawing blood. With a yell, he struggled against her grip. It was hopeless. The pain transformed itself into pleasure, bringing him almost to the edge. Her body pressed down on his, drawing him into her. With a long-held sigh, his body took over until her free hand grabbed his hair and pulled. "yImev!" she shouted in his face, his blood dripping off her teeth onto his cheek. He stopped moving in terror. She continued to ride him, drawing both of them to the abyss._
> 
> _She climaxed first, her hand crushing his wrists. Her snarl rang in his ear as she shuddered on top of him, driving him finally over the edge. His head exploded as he lost consciousness, his muscles straining. His last coherent sight was her body collapsing on his, her flesh pressing into his sweaty skin. It was the most intense sex he had ever had. The fleeting thought that there could be more chased his mind into darkness._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _"You were very good," B'Erell whispered in his ear. A cold cloth wiped the dried blood off his shoulder as she spoke. Richie had only been unconscious for a couple of minutes, enough for the Klingon to collect a few things. Like a damp cloth to clean up their mess. "I had not thought you would be. Humans look so fragile."_
> 
> _Richie just murmured something about being beaten up by the best, his eyes closed to slits. She still had forbidden him to do any active moving, but stretching seem acceptable. His hands were at his side, the bruises on his wrists slowly fading as he had watched. By the time the blood was wiped clean, the bite wounds were gone as well._
> 
> _B'Erell lay at his side, still examining his body with her hand. "I have never seen a Human naked before. You do not look to be so sturdy under your clothing. Not like Klingon men." Her hand brushed a nipple, then traced the curve of his pectoral. "You are not as bulky as Klingons, but you are nicely muscled. It is pleasing to look at." Her fingernail traced down his sternum and onto his abdomen. He shivered in response._
> 
> _"You aren't bad to look at yourself," he added, smiling up at her. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear in pleasure. "Next time, you'll have to let me do all the work."_
> 
> _Her hand rested lightly on his stomach, slowly rubbing in a circular motion. "I do not think so," she added. Her own body was completely relaxed in the afterglow of sex. It was easy for him to roll both of them over, so that he ended up on top of her. For a brief moment, she panicked and grabbed his wrists, intent on a fight._
> 
> _Chuckling softly, Richie licked her neck slowly, ending up with his tongue by her ear. "I want to show you as much pleasure as you just showed me. And trust me, I know many ways to do it." She still was not comfortable with the idea of Richie taking charge. An idea popped into his head. "Let me serve you, be'HoDqu'nes."_
> 
> _The Klingon seemed to accept that solution. "Captain?" she asked, letting him continue to kiss her skin. His wrists were still trapped in her grip, but she was allowing him freedom of her body._
> 
> _Richie looked up from her breasts and smiled, trying not to laugh. "It's one of the only Klingon words I know." That drew a chuckle from his bedmate._
> 
> _"We will have to see about that, toy'wI''a'oy. And pIn'a' is the word you should have used." She pulled him up to give him a kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth and lips. "I look forward to helping you with your studies. Of all kinds." She was interrupted as the door chimed. "That would be my brother. He is interested in meeting you. He can wait." They continued to kiss. It rang again._

"Come," Richie said angrily as he sat up in bed. His body was coated with sweat and his muscles tense. "Come!" he repeated louder. Still no response and the doors remained closed. "Computer, who requested entry?"

***No one has requested entry into this cabin since 1845 yesterday.***

_That was when I came in_ , Richie noted. _Damn._ Wiping his face with his hands, he flopped back down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. _God, I need a sex life._

* * *

"So that's what the Watchers are," Pretar said. He and Adam were sitting on the bridge, in the command chairs. The Immortal had wandered in after breakfast, at a loss for something to do. Captain Lorrict quickly engaged him in conversation and they had been talking ever since. "Richie has mentioned them before, and I know he's been friends with several. And you say you disguised yourself as one?" 

Adam chuckled. "Oh, yes. That was the easiest way to make sure they never found me." The Immortal smiled, actually beamed. "I was my own Watcher, you see. Well, I was only a researcher, but I made sure they never found me." 

_He really is rather charming_, Pretar admitted. He added his smile to the joke. "That seems very smart." A brief ripple in the back of his mind alerted him to Richie's approach. 

"Yes," Adam continued, unconsciously reacting as well. If Pretar hadn't been forewarned, he would have missed it. "That's how I met Joe Dawson, then that led to Richie and Duncan MacLeod." He finished off the cup of tea Pretar had offered earlier. "And the rest, as they say, is history." 

Pretar likewise eyed his empty cup. "I guess that means you've known Richie most of his life? Would you care for more?" The Betazoid motioned to the cups. 

Adam shook his head as the turbolift doors whooshed open. "Oh, no thank you. In Immortal terms you could say I changed his diapers, as it were." 

"I'd disagree," Richie interrupted, stepping onto the bridge from the turbolift. He stood at the upper railing and looked down at the pair. "You showed up long enough to cause whatever mayhem you felt like, then rushed off and disappeared. I had to change my own diapers, thank you very much." 

"That was just a figure of speech, Richie," Adam replied. By the look of his downfallen expression, the party was over. "I've known you since a year after you became Immortal. You were still learning how to be an Immortal." 

Richie moved to the side steps, walking down to the forward conn station. With a nod, he relieved the ensign and took his chair. "Not an accurate figure of speech," he informed them. A quick check of the ship's status and then he swiveled around. "You didn't 'know' me. You never took the time to 'know' me. I was always Mac's other friend. Remember?"

Pretar stood, breaking into the conversation. "Well, Rich, since you're here instead of taking the day off, I'll go see how Sonya is doing in Engineering. You have the Bridge, Commander." 

He started for the turbolift as Richie swung back to his console. _{Don't you dare do this to me, Petey. I'm in no mood.}_

Captain Lorrict glared at the turbolift doors, waiting for them to open. _This isn't personal, Commander. It's a direct order._ The doors opened just in time. With a scowl, Pretar entered and turned around. Richie's back tensed under the Betazoid's gaze.

* * *

_Damn_ , Richie cursed. He knew better than to take it any farther. No matter how much he thought the Betazoid was lying, there was no way to prove it. To a court of law or even to himself. _I'm just being petty._

With practiced hands, he called up another complete status report. _Hmmm, main engines off-line for microfracture examinations of the reactor core._ George and Danny were at Ops and Tactical, respectively, assisting in the tests. With all sensor arrays back on-line, they were recalibrating the readings. One of the dead planets in the system proved an excellent subject. _Of course, with all his practice, Danny should be a snap at planetary surveys._

Behind him, he could feel Adam staring at him. He should probably say something. But Richie didn't feel like confronting the annoying Immortal just yet. _I don't understand what Mac sees in him. There are less aggravating Immortals around. Hell, even Amanda seems tame compared to Adam. Why does MacLeod trust him and not...._

"Sir," Danny called out from the back station. "I'm reading some kind of tachyon surge ahead." The ensign shook his head as he tried to make sense of the readings. 

George ran a cross check. "Yep. It's a.... Damn. Klingon bird-of-prey decloaking and headin' this way." The Texan's drawl almost vanished in his excitement. 

Richie managed to look up in time to see space shimmer, and the heart-stopping shape of a Klingon warship materialize. The forward torpedo bay glowed as the weapon prepared to fire. The Immortal opened a ship-wide channel as he tried to raise the shields. "All hands, brace for impact. Red Alert." 

"Shield emitters are down," Adam called out. The other Immortal was working at the small console between the command chairs. "Phasers and torpedoes also off-line." The klaxon cut him off as George initiated the Red Alert. The bridge lights darkened, replaced by softer glows and blinking red rectangles. 

"Too late," Richie called out as the bird-of-prey fired. He managed to activate maneuvering thrusters as glowing destruction shot toward them. "Hold on," he shouted. The _Intrepid_ side stepped enough that the torpedo slammed into the side.

Everyone on the bridge grabbed handholds as the ship lurched from the impact. George let out a curse. "Hull breech, Decks Five and Six." He was doing his best to get the corridors sealed. "Sparky," the Texan called. Seething anger colored his voice. "They just spaced all of the off-duty personnel."

There wasn't time for Richie to think about that. The K'Vort class attack vessel was turning for another run, and the _Intrepid_ was a sitting duck. He opened a channel to Engineering. "I need impulse, shields and weapons pronto." With a mutter, he maneuvered the lumbering ship to an angle that presented the smallest profile. 

"I have something labeled a tricobalt device online," Adam interjected. Richie smiled as he turned the _Intrepid_ on its side. The tricobalt was an experimental torpedo. Very powerful. The yield was estimated at roughly ten normal photon torpedoes. He hoped the Klingons didn't even know about it yet. They deserved a deadly surprise. 

Richie waited until the bird-of-prey was heading in. "Fire it!" The other Immortal complied. A flashing object shot from beside the deflector dish, speeding toward the Klingon ship. The shields flared as the torpedo detonated. The high yield explosion ripped into the vulnerable underbelly, knocking the ship off course as another torpedo fired out its front. "Incoming."

There wasn't enough time to move the _Intrepid_ out of the way. The second photon torpedo plowed into the aft shuttle bay. The resultant power surge caused the empty engineering station on the bridge to explode and shower the crew with sparks. "I've lost contact with Engineering," Danny called out, engulfed in the spreading smoke. 

"On it," Adam called out, moving to help the distressed ensign. Richie barely gave them a thought. The second photon torpedo had virtually crippled the ship. The bird-of-prey slowly turned back, lining up another shot. This one the _Intrepid_ wouldn't survive. 

Richie watched as the torpedo bay flared, a missile of death heading toward the Federation ship. The thruster controls were dead; there was no way to move the ship out of the way again. "Oh, god," he managed to utter before the photon torpedo hit. 

The viewscreen exploded and sent a shower of deadly shards onto the bridge. Richie managed to duck and cover with his arms, feeling the little bits jabbing along his back. The ship shook again. He was thrown to the floor as more conduits exploded, sending vapors and sparks into the air. Gravity skewed, sending him rolling to the right. He could hardly understand the computer over the noise and alarms. 

***Warning. Warp core breech in progress. Warning. Warp core breech in progress....***

There was no way to hear the high pitched whine of the Klingon transporter over the dim. Even the signature sparkle of matter being rematerialized was lost in the smoke and haze. Richie looked up in time to spot the three Klingons as they moved toward him, disrupters ready. "Shit."

* * * * * * * *

Methos watched Danny try and reestablish contact with Engineering again. It failed. Most of the displays were flashing too badly to read. It seemed only one console panel was even functioning. "It's no use, ensign," he told Danny. "We're on our own."

"Oh, god," he managed to hear Richie say. The haze cleared enough for the Immortal to see the viewscreen and the deadly picture it showed. The third torpedo was speeding toward them. Without warning, he grabbed Danny and dove to the ground. Methos shoved him into a corner of the console and wall, using his own body as a shield. 

The ship lurched as the missile hit, debris falling around them. Only minor shrapnel landed on Methos' back; something the Immortal had faced many times before. When he was sure the coast was clear, he allowed Danny to get up. The bridge was a disaster. He could barely make out the large pylon that crushed the Ops station. And probably the officer manning it. "Look," Danny called, drawing his attention back to the console.

***Warning. Warp core breech in progress. Warning. Warp core breech in progress....***

The few remaining sensors showed the _Intrepid_ was being boarded. Transporter signals were being scanned in Engineering, Sickbay, and the Bridge. Methos looked around. "You have a phaser or something hidden up here?" 

Danny dropped to the floor again, looking in the wall panels. "They have emergency supplies in here, somewhere." It was then they heard Richie curse. "Got it," the ensign added, placing a small hand phaser into the Immortal's grasp. 

The smoke cleared just enough to see Richie surrounded by three of the ugliest Klingons Methos had ever seen. And surprisingly, not in uniform. _Rebels,_ he guessed. "vISuqta' R'chIy'," one of them said, brandishing his disrupter. Richie slowly stood, his hands in the air. "joy ylchu'!" 

"Drop it," Methos shouted, aiming his hand phaser. The other two Klingons fired at him. The Immortal ducked behind the console, but Danny was not so quick. A disrupter shot caught him in the shoulder. His body was thrown back into the station's monitors, then he crumpled to the floor. The ensign was slumped next to the Immortal, the injured shoulder visible. "Bloody stupid." 

By the time he managed to stand, Richie and the three Klingons were already locked in the orange shimmer of a transporter. The Immortals managed to lock gazes before it was completed, but Methos had no idea what the composed look in Richie's eyes meant. The way things were progressing, he may never have a chance. 

***Warning. Warp core breech in ten minutes. Warning. Warp core breech in ten minutes.***

The Tactical console was dead. Methos was unable to call up any power. He moved to Ops, confirming the man and the console were crushed under a duranium crossbeam. A check of the man's wrist failed to reveal a pulse. He was dead. The Immortal looked around the Bridge. The viewscreen was a blasted ruin, Richie was gone, power cables hung from the ceiling. Ever so often sparks and gasses escaped, showering the area. 

Danny moaned, briefly moving in pain behind the Tactical console. Methos went back over, setting down the phaser and getting a grip on the ensign's good arm. "Up you go," the Immortal called as he jerked him over his shoulders. With a grunt, he stumbled to the turbolift. The doors failed to open. Pressing the panel didn't work either. "Bloody great," he whispered, wondering where they had hidden the Jefferies tubes. It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Richie made his move as soon as the transporter beam released him. He moved to the right, hammering his clenched fists into the Klingon next to him. The large male was knocked backward, into the second Klingon. A growl behind him telegraphed the third's attack. Bending down, the Immortal's foot shot out, catching the third in the chin. He too was knocked back.

"mev ghaH," someone shouted at the transporter console. Richie managed to duck as disruptor fire passed over him, hurting the Klingon he had just kicked. With one dive roll, the Immortal moved into the room, using the console as a shield from the disruptor. The remaining two Klingons on the transporter pads followed after. 

Another disruptor was fired just as Richie managed to stand. It hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him backward into the console. Still, he did not give up. He used the equipment to steady himself as he kicked out again, sending a Klingon to the ground. His head was turning to look over the console when a fist connected with his jaw. Angry now, he grabbed the still outstretched arm, pulling the attacker into the console. He was rewarded by a loud grunt of pain. 

But he was still in the open, trapped between two groups of Klingons. Another disruptor shot hit him in the back, the force ramming him into the console. Hurting, the Immortal dropped to the ground and rolled under the console. The Klingon behind it was so surprised, Richie got a free shot at his kidney. A quick jab, in the right spot, and another Klingon was down. 

_Two down, two to go._ He was lucky that there had only been one Klingon in the transporter room. Any more, and he would be toast by now. Hiding behind the console, he waited until he heard the remaining Klingons sneaking around it. With a shout, he sprang forward, pushing the one in front of him down. That gave him a clear shot at the corridor door. _Once out of this room, that'll give me a little breather. Maybe I can find an escape pod or something._

The door opened and reveled the stark metallic corridor, a standard in Klingon architecture. Without thought, he turned right, racing out the door. Two disruptors, fired simultaneously, suddenly hit him in the chest. He was knocked off his feet, flying a good five yards back. His head slammed into the floor with an ugly cracking sound. The Immortal didn't move. 

"bIghHa' 'e' dah yaH," one of the newcomers called to the two Klingons who stumbled into the corridor. With a kick to the unconscious human, he indicated the direction of the brig. The injured pair grabbed the Immortal's arms and pulled him down the corridor. "R'chIy', son of M'QlowD. After all this time, you are finally mine," the newcomer said, mostly to himself.

* * *

"I need some help here," one of the Engineering crew called out as he reached Sickbay. Captain Lorrict was beside him, fully supported by the black haired Asian. Julia moved to help him, motioning to the one empty bed in the room. Several of the crew with only minor injuries were sitting against the walls. The few critical crewmembers were on the beds, but most were limp on the floor. No klaxons blared, but the sounds of moans and whimpers of pain were almost as bad. Methos shook his head, wondering if anything ever really changed. 

Julia ran a medical tricorder over the Betazoid. "What happened, Ensign?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she injected the Captain with a hypospray and ran another scan. 

"He was.... He was knocked into a bulkhead, and then a loose console landed on him." It was clear the young ensign was in shock himself. His hands and face were grimy with oil and sweat, and there were scorch marks on his uniform. "His pulse was steady, but he didn't regain consciousness." 

"Got it," Julia replied, setting aside the tricorder. "Computer, initiate emergency medical holographic program." There was a shimmer next to the nurse, then suddenly a human male was standing there, in the uniform of a medical crewman. The ensign and Methos jumped in startlement, but the nurse just looked expectantly at the new arrival. 

The newcomer turned his bald head and oriented on the nurse. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency," he stated in precise, clipped tones. A very calm individual surrounded by a sea of chaos. 

Julia handed over the medical tricorder. "Multiple percussive injuries, possibly concussive, Doctor. I've already administered 1 cc of hydroprophaleen. Heart rate stable and brainwaves normal." The short doctor gave the readings a once over and handed it back. "Three cc's of trianoline?" she asked. 

"Affirmative," the Doctor replied without emotion crossing his face. He waited patiently as the nurse administered the hypospray, then moved with her to another patient. Kim just stared down at the Captain like a lost puppy. 

"Mr. Pierson," Doctor Simmons said as he arrived behind the Immortal. Methos turned. "Ensign Bird has suffered severe damage to his chest and shoulder." The Immortal estimated that Danny had lucked out. A direct hit of that disrupter would have probably killed him. "The shot cauterized the wound, so there was negligible blood loss, but he still is in shock, with a possible concussion. He'll probably need to remain in Sickbay for several days." 

Methos nodded, glad the damage had not been more severe. "Thank you, Doctor. That's good news. I noticed they just brought in Captain Lorrict." He pointed out the bed to Simmons. The doctor hurried over, leaving the Immortal to himself. _I guess it's time for drastic action._ "You," Methos called. It took a second shout to rouse the ensign. "You know anything about bridge operations?" The Asian absently nodded, still engrossed with the unconscious captain. "You're with me," Methos informed him, grabbing a shoulder and pushing the young man out of Sickbay.

* * *

"My stars," were the first words out of the ensign's mouth when they exited the Jefferies tubes. The Bridge was a disaster. And unfortunately, Methos remembered the officer still dead at Ops. The young man noticed George about the same time. The Asian froze, his mouth agape. "Oh, my...." 

"Ensign," Methos called. He added a jerk on the arm to get the young man's attention. The Immortal pointed at the science station, in the middle of the curved side wall. "We have work to do. That has to wait until later." The Asian absently nodded, probably still in shock, and moved stiffly to the console. "Computer," Methos called and gave a silent prayer to the gods, "activate disaster protocols."

***Beeep. Dis...Disaster proto...ls. Beep. Must be initiate...by bridge offi... Beep***

Methos crossed his fingers, a habit he had developed in the last five centuries. "Computer, transfer command protocols and codes to Commander Michael Preston, authorization Methos-one, Adam-one." 

***Authorization accept.... Command cod...ferred to Commander Michael Preston. Status up... to active.***

Methos would have jumped for joy if things weren't so grave. "Computer, activate disaster protocols." The words were tripping on the way out of his mouth. His excitement was jumbling them together. Red Alert died as the lights returned to a muted state, giving enough to see by while conserving power. Triple redundant systems engaged as power was rerouted. Communications were routed through auxiliary channels. In all, major systems were using anything and everything that was still functioning. 

***Gomez to Bridge, wha...zzz... hell is happening up there?***

"Sonya, this is Adam. The short version is that the Captain is in Sickbay, Richie's been abducted by...." 'Aliens' was not a word she would appreciate. "...Klingons, and I've just activated the disaster protocols. How's Engineering?" 

 

***That's just great. We're a little shaken ... ... ... we've started to fight our way back. ...'s in command?***

"I am," Methos replied. "But the computer knows me as Commander Michael Preston." Harry motioned him over as he was talking. "I've borrowed one of your crew, if you don't mind. Why don't we try and call for help, while you restore as much of the major systems as you can?" 

***That.... Sounds ... plan, Bridge. Gomez out.***

"S...sir?" the ensign shakily called once Methos was finished. The Asian's hands were trembling, and his eyes looked haunted. "These panels... They're destroyed. The console doesn't look too bad." It appeared to Methos that the panels had burst outward, sparing the underlying equipment from further damage. 

The Immortal started looking around. "Why don't we try...." He stopped. Even a cursory glance showed the other stations were in far worse shape. "Computer. What's the procedure on repairing a marginally damaged console?" 

***...zzz... Consoles use replaceable display panels. Swapping out damaged panels may restore partial functionality to consoles. Replacement panels are located in bridge compartment AF-5.***

There were times when Methos really hated the Industrial Revolution. Now was one of them. It was almost like talking to a retarded child. He refrained from using a particularly nasty expletive, in the mad fear the computer would try and respond. "And where the bloody hell can I find bridge compartment AF-5?" 

***Bridge compartment AF-5 is located two sections forward of the Engineering station.***

The Asian pointed to the opposite station from where he was sitting. "That's it," he offered. Methos gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and walked over. Once the covering facade was opened, neatly layered panels came into view, each different size marked with a letter - number combination. The combination was also marked on the back corner of the panel. 

"Hey, ensign," Methos shouted, mentally reminding himself it would help to find out the man's name. "Pull off one of those damaged panels and read me the little sign on back."

* * *

Life was full of haze for Richie Ryan. Dark shapes intruded through the fog. Some were phantoms, but others were definitely real. The pain they caused was real. One in particular gained obvious delight in hurting him. He was force-fed food, his captors laughing when he regurgitated it back up. The slimy nourishment was left to dry on his chest. His naked skin felt clammy in the muggy heat. 

A small part of him was actively trying to get his conscious attention. Yelling that he must concentrate. Fight his way back, fight the drugs they were injecting in him to keep him helpless. He didn't want to listen. He knew his arms hurt, and his shoulders were strained. His wrists were rubbed raw. Consciousness he avoided, because that brought pain and fear. This mindless stupor only brought a small voice whispering how he must concentrate....

> **_2347 A.D. -- Qo'noS, Klingon Homeworld_ **
> 
> _"...must concentrate, Human," B'Erell rather forcefully pointed out. She backed him toward the wall, the sharp blade of the bat'telh between his legs. "This weapon has four points, each as deadly as the other. You must avoid the entire weapon, or you are doomed."_
> 
> _Richie prayed he didn't trip on something as he stumbled back, trying to escape the Klingon blade. "Ah, yeah. I guess I'm used to a single point." With dread, the Immortal felt his back hit the workout room's wall. B'Erell kept the sharp edge close to his crotch._
> 
> _"That is not good enough, Human." With a grunt, she drove the bottom end point into the wall between Richie's legs. The Immortal rose to tiptoe, pressing himself into the wall as the other end point rushed to his face. "Meditate on that while I take a break."_
> 
> _The top point was barely sticking into Richie's forehead, keeping him from moving his head. He quickly released his breath, straining higher to keep his privates from meeting the weapon's sharp edge. "B'Erell!" She wasn't answering. Carefully, he reached one hand around, trying to get at one of the grips. No luck. "B'Erell, this isn't funny."_
> 
> _"This is not a lesson in comedy," the Klingon said in his ear, causing the immortal's heart to jump in his chest. Sweat broke out on his bare torso. "It is to see what you will do when.... How do you Humans say it? 'Have your back against a wall?'" B'Erell chuckled, nuzzling Richie's bare shoulder. "I want to see what you do."_
> 
> _He heard her move away again. By the sound of it, she had reached the water container and was gulping the liquid down. Gritting his teeth, Richie placed his palm against the bat'telh edge and pushed. He felt steel cut into his skin, warm blood seeping from the wound and dripping down the blade. With a grunt, his face screwed up in pain and concentration, he pushed harder. The blade point came away from his forehead as the weapon pivoted down. Another hard push and the blade was far enough away he could step over the edge safely. It was then he felt the pain from the hand wound. "Damn."_
> 
> _Richie stood beside the Klingon weapon, cradling his hand, already feeling the wound heal. "That was the Klingon response," B'Erell pointed out as she approached. "I was wondering what you would do." She regarded him evenly. "I have approached my superiors about your proposed border withdrawal. They reacted as I predicted; against the measure." With one hand, she grabbed the bat'telh and wrenched it out of the wall. Keeping an eye on Richie, she licked his still-warm blood from the blade. "I pointed out that a small force in the neighboring system could easily recapture the planets, should our hostilities break out again. They relented, and will allow the measure to be included in the treaty."_
> 
> _That had been Richie's plan all along. It was becoming easier to deal with the Klingons after he had learned the steps their thought processes went through. And how to couch the terms in ways they understood. "Good. I still think it would be a whole lot faster if I could talk to them myself."_
> 
> _"On that, we agree, Human," B'Erell replied. "But only Klingons can formally address the High Council. We should at least be happy we can bypass the imbeciles on the diplomatic arm." For months, the Federation diplomats had quietly been dealing through B'Erell, only making the motions at the 'diplomatic meetings' still scheduled._
> 
> _Richie wiped the last of the dried blood off his palm. "Have you considered my earlier idea?" For weeks, they had been skirting the issue he had brought up innocently enough one night._
> 
> _"For you to become Klingon? Yes." She eyed Richie with a disapproving tone. "I do not think you can survive the trials. Even some Klingon adults do not live through them. I still believe this is the best way. We will talk of this no more."_
> 
> _The Immortal came close, rubbing his hands on her bare forearm. "There may not be choice later on," he softly reminded her._
> 
> _She grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. Her teeth brushed his neck as she lapped his skin. "You have never had a choice, toy'wI''a'," she replied in between light bites. Richie just moaned, feeling her other hand crawling down his shorts._
> 
> _"Pardon the intrusion...," a husky male voice began. B'Erell bit down hard in frustration, causing Richie to gasp. "Please, continue, I don't mind watching. Though I don't think a Human could put up much of a struggle. To be entertaining. Apparently some Klingons like easy prey."_
> 
> _B'Erell moved away, turning to face her brother, K'trik. "What do you want, loDnI'?" Her hands were planted on her hips, her stance both warlike and sexy as hell to Richie. "I haven't seen you in a weapons room in your life. Or did you want to see how a real man does it? Take notes?"_
> 
> _"I have come to have a word with you," the man barked. He eyed Richie with disgust and revulsion. "Alone." The hatred dripped of his words. "Dulegh qatlh. Human." With a hiss, K'trik spat at Richie's feet._
> 
> _B'Erell stuck an arm out, holding Richie back. "He is much more a warrior that you will ever be. That is what I see in him." She turned to the Immortal. "Leave us. Clean yourself and be ready. We are meeting jup for supper." To emphasis her words, she ran a hand across his sweaty chest, adding a push backwards toward the changing rooms. "I will be along when I can."_
> 
> _Richie turned and left, unable to miss K'trik's parting words. "You have him well trained. At least you have found a man you can dominate among aliens." A small part of him warned not to miss this confrontation. Over the centuries he had learned to listen to it. It was usually right. He quickly moved down the hall into the far room and loudly slammed the door. Then he quietly snuck to the weapon room doorway, hiding in the shadows of the wall. Even though his Klingon was still spotty, he managed to catch most of the words._
> 
> _"What do you want, brother dear? You practically naDHa' me because of the Human." Her voice was shaken. Richie guessed she was distressed and moving. "And, no, I have not changed my mind. You and your ghom can find someone else to spy on these proceedings. I will not."_
> 
> _K'trik's voice took on a slimy, oily tone. "We do not need you, B'Erell. There are many more people who can do just as well a job as you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I just wanted to spare you the pain of being caught in the middle."_
> 
> _"Ha," B'Erell hissed back. "I'm ghalh a Federation diplomat! You only wish you could say the same! They are going to get what they came for, and you and your anti-roj group will be left out in the cold. You came to me because you are ghIjpu'."_
> 
> _It was K'trik's turn to hiss. "We will win. And your little pet will be broken Hommey on the street before we are done. And we will be at war with the Federation! Nothing you can do will stop us." At the mention of war, Richie knew it was time to leave. He quickly snuck back to the changing area, and managed to strip and step into the Klingon equivalent of a shower before B'Erell showed up._
> 
> _"I am sorry my brother took so much of my time." She stepped in, as naked as Richie, and proceeded to help him wash his back. "You are still cleaning? I did not work you that hard today."_
> 
> _The Immortal turned around, handing her the cleansing bar. "I was waiting for you," he replied with a smile. Her eyebrow shot up, but she didn't comment. "So, tell me, what does ghalh mean?"_
> 
> _B'Erell grew grim, realizing Richie had overheard at least part of her conversation with her brother. Then the harshness melted. "That was also a very Klingon thing to do." Her free hand moved down, encircling a part of Richie he hadn't cleaned yet. "This is ghalh," she said, adding a jerk._
> 
> _Richie inhaled sharply, responding quickly to her stimulation. It seemed supper was going to be delayed. "Oh," was all he innocently managed to say before her mouth closed on his, and then the Immortal got a personal demonstration of ghalh. A very comprehensive demonstration at that._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _It was very late. The streets of Qo'noS were deserted. Richie felt the warm breeze as it blew under his jacket and caressed the silk shirt. His lips still smarted where B'Erell had bitten them. And he was wishing the stain in the front of his trousers would dry. He didn't want to transport up with that still visible._
> 
> _A targ howled nearby, probably disturbed by his passage. The Immortal jumped anyway. It was somewhat spooky. Walking a dark, deserted street on a strange planet. He wished the trousers would hurry up. The waiting finally became to much. His hand snaked under his jacket, lightly tapping his communicator in the interior pocket. "Ryan to Intrepid. One to...."_
> 
> _He felt the body behind him first. Training took over and he ducked, letting the arm or weapon pass over him. With his hands on the street to stabilize, he kicked backward, feeling the solid contact of his boot on a body. Someone grunted in pain. Quickly, he rolled, his sides coming in contact with another set of legs. Suddenly, there were arms everywhere, reaching for him._
> 
> **_*Sir? Mr. Ryan?*_**
> 
> _"I'm being..." Richie managed to gasp before a boot connected with his stomach. "Ooff," he finished. Hands reached for his arms, pulling him from his fetal position. They lifted him until he was standing unsteadily. Another fist pounding his gut, but the hands wouldn't let him bend over._
> 
> _"yltamchoM, Human. Qit Hegh." The hands restrained him as he struggled. His stomach radiated pain. Fingers dug into his hair, forcing him to look at the hooded figure and the dagger it brandished. With a click, the two side points appeared and the hooded figure drove the d'k tang into Richie's chest. The figure precisely moved the knife to the side, cutting the carotid artery. The knife proceeded downward as the Immortal screamed, trapped by the hands._
> 
> **_*Initiating emergency beam out. Hold on*_ **
> 
> _The Klingon with the knife reached into the opening that had just been made, grabbing a handful of Richie's guts and pulling them out. As the whine of a Federation transporter sounded, the hands released the Immortal. Richie collapsed on the ground, in pain. "Noooo..." His final scream died off as the transporter whisked him away._

"Noooo," Richie screamed and struggled in his stupor. One final jerk, and the braces holding the wrist manacles parted from the ceiling, allowing the Immortal to collapse on the floor. Remembered agony coursed through his helpless body as it thrashed uncontrollably. "Nooo...."

* * * * * * * *

Pretar sat up suddenly on the Sickbay bed, clutching his chest. "Nooo," he wailed. The shout drew the attention of Dr. Simmons as he worked in his office. "They're killing him," Pretar whispered as the medical staff surrounded him. "By the Rings, they're killing him."

* * *

The Sickbay doors opened on Methos. His first sight was the doctor and nurse bending over Captain Lorrict in the surgical bay. "What's the emergency?" the Immortal asked. 

Dr. Simmons looked up. "The Captain regained consciousness momentarily. Said something like 'no' and then 'they're killing him'." The CMO turned to the nearest display, checking the readings. "He seems to be comatose again." 

"Well, that's just great. Anything else going on?" Methos heard his tone get snippy, but he was too wired to care. This was turning into a very bad week. _A very bad thirty-three years,_ he reminded himself. "Sorry. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how is he?" 

"Oh, fine," Dr. Simmons replied. "He's responding well to the medication. That brief moment of lucidity is a good sign." The Immortal's agitated fidgeting drew the doctor's attention. "What happened to you?" Jarvis asked as he pointed to the torn trouser leg.

Methos waved it off. "We were clearing Ops and another support pillar clipped it. The ensigns on the bridge decided I needed immediate medical attention, so they...." 

***Bridge to, ah, Mr. Pierson?***

"Use Preston. Go ahead," Methos replied to Harry's call. _What else has gone wrong?_ he wondered. _There wasn't much more that could happen._ The Immortal quickly clamped down on that train of thought. _As soon as I come up with something really truly horrible, some variation will occur._

***We're being hailed.***

_Surprise_ , Methos wanted to shout. _Good news for once._ "It's not a Ferengi or anything, is it?" _That would really make my day._ "Second thought, don't worry about it. Go ahead and patch it down here." There was a brief second of static, and the channel cleared. It took maybe a second for Methos to run through his telephone answer replies. Prudence won out. "Go ahead." 

***This is Commander Riker of the _USS Enterprise_. It looks like you need some assistance.***

"Commander...Preston, temporarily in command. So good of you to find us." It took a moment for the shock to wear off the Immortal. _They built another one! Can't they come up with another name besides Enterprise?_ "Ah, yes. We do need some assistance. I was wondering...."

A wall panel near the doctor's office suddenly exploded in a large shower of sparks. Luckily, no one was near it at the time. Shards flew out and acidic smoke billowed from inside the destroyed panel. The nurse chose that rather opportune time to scream. Methos dropped to the floor. Secondary explosions, smaller than the first, continued. Using a console for a shield, the Immortal crawled toward the Captain. He knew the doctor was in that general area and the rest of the people in Sickbay had been near the doors.

***Get them out of there, Mr. Worf.***

"I'm way too old for this level of excitement," Methos muttered under his breath. He moved through the smoke, running head first into a diagnostic scanner. "Damn," he cursed. He waved his hand in the area in front of him to find any obstructions. He found another body. "Are you hurt?" he asked. 

The face of Dr. Simmons loomed from the smoke. He was also on the floor. "No. Just enjoying the cool night air out here on the terrace." The doctor chuckled at the Immortal's perturbed look. "Actually, I've pulled Pretar onto the floor with me...." 

The doctor never had a chance to finish, at least on the _Intrepid_. The loud whine of a transporter filled Methos' ears and the smoke and explosions vanished, to be replaced by a calm, cool atmosphere. "...for safety," Dr. Simmons finished. Then a mass of medical personal helped the doctor lift Pretar onto a bed. 

The Immortal found himself in a room almost twice the size of the Sickbay he just vacated. Probably twenty personnel moved about, most assisting with Captain Lorrict. A few others were checking on the rest of _Intrepid_ crew members who were in Sickbay at the time of the explosion. A silent alarm decided to remind the Immortal to pick himself off the floor. "How are you?" a feminine voice asked behind him after he stood. Methos unconsciously reacted by turning around and opening his mouth to speak. He never got as far as words. 

For the first time in a century, the oldest living Immortal was speechless. His eyes focused on red hair first, then slid easily over a sparkling face. The mouth was quirked in the start of a smile, and the smell of her perfume.... Methos wanted to close his eyes and breathe deeply, but his body would not respond to his request. He just stood there, mouth open as he looked at the vision of loveliness in front of him. 

The woman's eyes glanced across his face, resting on his forehead. The upturned lips fell into a frown, her deep eyes taking on a touch of concern. "You're hurt," she pointed out. Her hands reached for his arms and guided him backwards to a bed. He stiffly sat, still unable to look away. 

"Not since the statues of Aphrodite," he breathed. She didn't hear him. The woman was already digging for a medical tricorder. Methos' heart skipped a beat when she turned back to him and he could once again gaze on her beauty. "'For now, the beauty of the Moon pales against your golden face...'" 

Her attention was focused on his forehead. "Possible concussion. Deep scalp wound. I need a dermal regenerator." The woman mumbled to herself as she worked. Her words awoke a part of Methos he had been ignoring. 

"I'm fine," he suddenly said as he grabbed her wrist. All his protection instincts had kicked in. Whoever this person was, her attention was dangerous. Medically speaking. "How 'bout dinner?" he asked, drastically changing the subject. 

The woman looked exasperated. "You have a serious head wound," she pointed out. When the Immortal didn't respond, she went on. "Possible head trauma. Chance of concussion...." 

"Two cc's of trianoline," Methos finished for her. "I know the drill. I'll be fine." The Immortal tried his patented smile. "You didn't answer me about dinner." _Maybe I should try cute._

The woman rewarded him with another smile, this one more forced. "If you don't cooperate, I'll have security hold you down." She reached again for the regenerator, but Methos pulled her back. That lit the fire in her eyes. They blazed as fiery as her hair. 

"It will be fine," he insisted. But it was too late. Her eyes widened as she looked at his forehead. The wound was healing in front of her eyes. Methos tried to resist a sigh. It got so predictable after that. Most of the time, the woman would then look into his face, her eyes full of distrust and horror. The words 'monster' and 'inhuman' would be thrown out. Your basic Frankenstein story on fast-forward and without the commercials. The only other reaction he had ever seen was the mad scientist mode. He would stop being a man and lover, and turn into a cash cow. Lab rat. Hell, he had even been dragged out of bed and thrown naked into a laboratory cage. At least that was better than being burned at the stake. That had been a bummer. 

Granted, nowadays, with all the aliens running around, things were much simpler. "No." Sometimes "oh my god, no." A scream every now and then. Whomever the woman, explaining about Immortality destroyed his love life. Whatever the reaction this woman would make, Methos already felt the rejection. _And she never got a chance to answer me about dinner._

"Oh," was all she said. She grabbed the medical tricorder again, ran a quick scan, and set it down. "I'll give you a ten minute pain reliever. Let me know if you feel any dizziness in the next hour or so. Just to rule out a concussion, I want to scan you again in thirty minutes." Her hand firmly removed his from her arm and flashed him her best smile. "And I'll think about dinner." Methos just stared at her again as she injected the medication in his arm. 

The Immortal's heart would not stop pounding. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Even in a medical service uniform, she looked fit and healthy. And she was walking away from him. "Wait," he called out, loud enough to draw everyone's attention. He didn't care. "What's your name?" 

"Beverly," the red-haired woman replied over her shoulder before she waltzed out of the room.

* * *

Richie cowered naked in the corner. He was a fast learner. It was harder for the people to kick him when he was pressed into the corner. That never stopped them from dragging him out into the middle of the room to kick him anyway. But it did give a brief respite from the pain. 

It didn't help that he healed so quickly. Just as soon as one injury went away, they hurt him there again. And again. No one asked him any questions. No one demanded access codes. They just wanted to hurt him. And they were doing a pretty good job. 

A rough hand grabbed his hair and lifted his head. The cold hard steel of a dagger caressed his throat again. Richie shivered as the sharp edge brushed his skin. The point would dance across his chest and shoulders, winding around his arms and sides. Sometimes it would draw blood, sometimes just threaten and tease. An evil laugh would echo as the knife pirouetted around. It would make lazy circles on his unprotected stomach. Never was it predictable. 

Richie knew intellectually how much damage a d'k tang could do. He had been on the receiving end more than a few times. This wasn't the usual thrust and kill use. Part of the terror now was never knowing when the blade would strike. Was this cut the start of the end? But the edge never penetrated too deeply, never cut into anything vital. It was maddening.

"I want to see you die," a voice suddenly hissed in his ear. The dagger plunged unerringly into Richie's heart. Steel dug into his chest, his warm blood heating the icy blade. His mouth opened in shock, but no sound came out. He died slowly, feeling the d'k tang twist about in his chest. Each breath he wished would be his last. Or that darkness would come. But every second turned into another and another. The pain became worse, each plateau a new level of torment. He knew tears were streaming down his face, but he had no energy to stop them. Or to beg for the torture to stop. That's all he wanted, for the pain to stop. But for an Immortal, it never does. 

One final gasp, and Richie's body was still. His eyes remained open to gaze unseeing on his tormentor's face. No Klingon present dared howl. The blood stopped spurting out of the Immortal's chest. His skin turned paled and clammy. No more air was pulled into his lungs. For a brief moment, Richie Ryan was at peace.

* * * * * * * *

"He's gone into shock," a nurse called out. Bedlam erupted in the _Enterprise_ Sickbay as both Beverly and Dr. Simmons closed in on Captain Lorrict as he lay unconscious on the main biobed. "Doctor, I'm reading elevated psilosynine levels in the paracortex. Rapid heart rate."

Methos sat helplessly on a side bed as Dr. Crusher bent over the Betazoid. "Deanna Troi to Sickbay. I need a neuroinhibiter, Alyssa." The nurse quickly moved to a replicator. "Dr. Simmons?" 

The tall doctor was on the other side of the bed, scanning the captain with a medical tricorder. "I see no physiological cause for this reaction," he informed them. A hiss echoed in the room as the nurse administered the medication. "That stabilized his heart rate, but his metaconscious is going crazy." 

"I've never seen anything like it before," Beverly pointed out. Her eyes flicked to the large diagnostic display on the Sickbay was that was now continually updating Pretar's condition. "It's like he's being barraged with an overload of mental information." She turned back to the nurse. "Let's get the surgical support frame on him. 

Within seconds, the two women were moving the large frame into position over the captain. Dr. Simmons assisted and continued to try and stabilize Pretar's heart rate. "It's dropping again," he pointed out as one of the indicators on the wall display changed to red. "Ten cc's tricoraleen." 

A black-haired woman chose that instant to enter Sickbay. She was dressed in a provocative light blue number that Methos found appealing, but hardly fitting on a Starfleet vessel. She glanced at him, and he noticed her dark, wide eyes. _She's a Betazoid._

The newcomer advance slowly to the group around the captain. "Beverly," she called hesitantly. When the doctor moved away from the bed, she got a good look at the person on it. "Pretar!" 

"Deanna," Beverly replied. "He's gone into some kind of neural shock. We're trying to stabilize him." As the doctor talked, she moved Deanna off to the side, their view of the bed blocked by the staff. "Can you think of any reason this could be happening?"

Dr. Simmons let out an expletive. "I need a neural stimulator. Quickly." Julia slipped in between the _Enterprise_ personnel to place one in his hand. It was interesting for the Immortal to watch both sets of medical staffs interacting in this emergency. "He's stabilized."

The _Enterprise_ nurse appeared again. "His paracortex has begun to deteriorate. And the psilosynine levels are still off the scale." Dr. Crusher just shook her head and plowed back into the fray. Most of the staff was running around, but nothing seemed to help. They were just shoving a lot of drugs into the unconscious Betazoid. 

"Wait a minute," Deanna said, grabbing Beverly's arm. "This has happened before." The female Betazoid looked around helplessly as she tried to remember. "Someone was telling me about...." A look of horror and recognition crossed her face. "His bonded just died. This is just like when Donald was killed, only much slower."

Dr. Simmons absently nodded. "I read the report." He motioned for Julia and whispered in her ear. She nodded once and handed him a hypospray. The _Intrepid's_ doctor reached for the injector and then administered the medication. 

Beverly leaned over the surgical frame. "How do we lower the psilosynine levels?" She looked from Deanna to Jarvis, both of which looked grim. Neither one answered. "What the hell do we do?" 

"We don't do anything," Dr. Simmons responded angrily. Methos gaped in shock. Apparently Beverly was shocked as well. "The only thing that saved him last time was finding a suitable, willing telepath to bond with him. He's not going to be that lucky a second time."

Dr. Crusher was not liking the defeatist attitude in the room. "And what if we don't find anyone like that real soon?" 

"Most of them die," Deanna answered as tears began to stream down her face. She hugged her sides as she watched the captain on the bed. Beverly wasn't going to take it lying down. She motioned for the nurse, and the two held a quiet conference at the head on the biobed. 

The words barely made sense to Methos. "Let's try a series of neural accelerators. If we can get...." Beverly suddenly gasped in shock, startling everyone in the room. The doctor quickly looked down to find Captain Lorrict's hand over hers. Pretar's mouth moved, but no words came out. Dr. Simmons bent over his face and strained to hear. 

"No...." was the Betazoid's first word. "Need water." A nurse appeared instantly nearby, a water container and tube in his hand. Gently, Deanna placed the tube in his mouth and everyone watched as Pretar sucked in the water. "Sleep now," he told her when he was finished. His eyes closed as the display readings stabilized. It was then Methos realized he was holding his breath.

* * * * * * * *

"You should try and sleep," Beverly pointed out to Methos, some time later. Sickbay was almost deserted. Deanna had taken a bed to Methos' left, and Dr. Simmons had returned to the _Intrepid_ once he was sure Pretar would be fine. The only active souls were the Immortal and Dr. Crusher. "I could give you a sedative...."

Methos shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm too wired for drugs to help anyway." He was surprised to find how worried he had been for the Betazoid. How worried he still was for Richie. The Immortal didn't think he could sleep until everything was resolved. 

"We shouldn't be talking in here," Beverly pointed out. She smiled a quirky smile that Methos could barely make out in the darkened room. "Why don't you join me in my office for tea." She moved away slightly. "And maybe dinner." That was the best offer Methos had had in 400 years.

* * * * * * * *

Methos pushed his empty plate to the side. "So what did happen to Pretar?" he asked. They had settled for minor pleasantries while they ate, but now they were finished. Beverly wiped her mouth and likewise moved her plate out of the way.

"More wine?" she offered. Beverly filled both their glasses as she talked. "It's usually fatal for a Betazoid to experience the death of a person he is telepathically bonded to." She continued when Methos didn't respond. "Some Betazoids form a mental link with their life partners. When one dies, the other one does as well, unless certain steps are taken beforehand." 

Still confused, Methos took a swig of his drink. "So somewhere in the universe, his spouse just died. But Pretar's stabilized and will be fine. Why is everyone still depressed? Did you know her?" 

Beverly shook her head. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Being on the _Intrepid_ , well, I guess we all assumed...." 

The Immortal felt himself getting agitated. "It seems I don't know. It wasn't someone on the _Intrepid_?" After five thousand plus years, he still hated being the last to find out something. 

The doctor leaned in close, grabbing Methos' hands. "Whoever has Richard just killed him. And by now, they know what he truly is."

Methos wasn't stupid. He quickly added up the numbers and found his answer. Richie and Pretar were telepathically linked. That explains the conference room. _Hell, that explains a lot of things. Why didn't I see it?_ The Immortal focused his eyes on Beverly. "So Richie and Pretar are...what? Lovers?" 

The doctor laughed at that. "Oh, no. I guess I need to tell you more of the story." She reached for her glass and settled back in her chair. Methos suddenly wished for a blazing fire. "Pretar's partner was killed about three years ago. Richard was nearby and they managed to transfer the bond and save Pretar's life." She smoothly switched into analytical mode. Methos watched her eyes get a far off look. "It may have helped that the new bond was weaker, or maybe it's just deteriorated over time...." 

The Immortal found he enjoyed how this woman's mind took off on a tangent. Dinner had been more than he hoped, and talking to her was pure excitement. "It sounds like you know him very well." Methos intentionally left out whom he was referring to. After all, Pretar's cousin Deanna was her co-worker. And she could have found out about Richie's Immortality the same way it happened today. By accident. 

Beverly came back to the present, leaving the problem alone for now. "Richie? Of course. He was my husband's legal guardian for a bit."

Methos almost spewed out his wine. He choked as the liquid went down the wrong way. "I'm sorry," he apologized between coughs. That little bit of information caught him off guard. He found it odd he was more surprised that Richie had taken responsibility for someone than that this lovely creature was married. "It just threw me." 

Beverly winked once she saw he was all right. "Don't worry. He's been dead for quite some time." She added another smile as she gazed at the Immortal over her wine glass as she sipped. 

"No, I meant Richie..." he said before he could stop. He chastised himself for letting his defenses down around this woman. "I never could picture Richie as the fatherly type." He had expected Beverly to frown at that revelation. But instead, she still had a knowing little grin plastered on her face. 

"Well, it did happen suddenly, and Jack was...fifteen at the time. He never thought of Richard as his father, but a good close male friend he could talk to. They mainly looked out for each other." It seemed Beverly had a few good memories about the past. Her face was happy and dreamy. "Have you known Richard long?" she asked abruptly, catching Methos in some wishful thinking of his own. 

The Immortal wondered briefly how much to tell her. "Almost four hundred years. I met him through Duncan MacLeod." She nodded at the mention of the Highlander. "I've run into him a couple of times over the centuries, usually because of Duncan. You might have heard things are...strained."

He found his glass empty and reached for the bottle. "You two are hardly friends," she observed. Methos shrugged. "I find that surprising. Richard isn't the type of person who makes many enemies. Unless you're...." Beverly paused a moment. "...after his head?"

The Immortal found that extremely funny. "No. That's the farthest from my mind." There had been an occasion, once or twice, when the young Immortal had let his defenses down, and felt cold steel at his neck because of Methos. "I'm not a head hunter." 

"Then what?" Beverly asked. 

Methos eyed her as he pulled his legs up into the chair. This was turning into a very cozy after-dinner conversation. He weighed the truth and a lie. "Truth?" he finally asked, placing the decision on her. She eagerly nodded. The Immortal noticed the spark had returned to her eyes. "I learned, a very long time ago, not to get attached to very young Immortals. They tend to die rather quickly."

> **_2039 B.C. - Mesopotamia, Earth_**
> 
> _"Arista," Methos gently called. The body in his arms did not hear, the head almost a yard away did not answer. They had worked so hard, daily, but it had been for naught. The new Immortal's second challenge had been his last. And his teacher would be the one to bury him, just like the last._
> 
> _Methos had tried, very hard, to impart a little of his skill, his knowledge to the fledgling he had taken under his wing. Enough so that the young Immortal might survive until he had skill of his own. But it didn't work. It never worked. Not one of his students ever survived long outside of his protection. Not one in a thousand years..._

"And Richard..." Beverly gently prodded.

"Richie was as green and naive as they come." He was finding it less awkward then he had thought it would be to talk about things with this woman. "He wasn't raised a fighter. He was a street punk, a thief. Granted, there were basic survival skills there, but the will to fight? To kill? Hardly." 

"So what do you think happened?" Beverly asked. Her glass was empty as she set it on the desk. "Wait, hold off answering that. Would you like to go someplace more comfortable, maybe some coffee?"

_Score_ , Methos resisted shouting. It may have been a while since he had been invited to a lady's bedroom, but he wasn't that out of practice. It was a disappointment when she showed him the large lounge, 'Ten-Forward' she had called it. At the moment, it was dark and empty. They sprawled on a side couch, the better to see the stars streaking by out the windows, as a quiet waiter brought over hot coffee. 

"Where were we...," Methos continued. He wondered if he should try an accidental body contact. Probably not while they were talking about Richie. "Why has Richie survived? Luck. A whole truckload of lucky breaks." He looked back at Beverly, who waited for him to continue. "Oh, being taken in by Duncan. Winning his first few challenges. I heard his first head was an accomplished fighter over eight hundred. That was luck." A brief flash of their disastrous holodeck excursion awoke. "And I never knew it before, but he has a burning desire to live. That's a strong part of surviving through the centuries. You know, in many ways, he reminds me of Duncan at four hundred." 

Beverly took another sip. "I remember a friend of Richard's. Greg...Collins, I believe. Although, I think he used Powers when Richard first met him. He was...is a holoprogrammer. Very intense. One night, he compared Richard and Duncan for Jack and me. It was interesting to hear about the famous Highlander from someone else." 

That intrigued Methos. He had heard Duncan mention a Greg before. "Tell me." 

"This was a while ago, and I don't have an Immortal's sterling memory," she warned. "He said Duncan was blazing passion. Richie was colder, but no less intense. Certainly not weaker, by any means. The Highlander was the sun, Richard the gossamer moonlight. Two versions of the same brilliance." Her eyes took on a wistful look. "I'd like to meet this Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod someday." 

A pang of jealousy zipped through Methos. "That was an interesting comparison. I'm sure you'd like Duncan. A lot." It tormented the Immortal that after having successfully outlived the Greek gods, he was competing with a stinking Scottish barbarian. "He's very...appealing."

Methos had turned away from Beverly. He didn't see her hand moving until it rested on his arm. "Silly. I want to meet the person who helped shape Richard during his formative years. I've already seen pictures of him. Nice, if you go for the sturdy-as-an-ox type. I don't, though."

The Immortal raised an eyebrow as he placed his hand over hers. "And what type do you go for? The cerebral? Witty? I can even do cute." Things were coming back around. The sympathetic contact was getting better and better. Until Beverly dashed his hopes with her next words. 

"The mortal types," she sadly answered as she slipped her hand out of his grasp. There were more levels to her words than she let on. Methos accepted the fact there would be nothing more than lively conversation and harmless flirting between them. "I need to check in on Pretar."

The Immortal handed off his cup to a passing waiter. "I'll go with you," he said with a smile. "So, tell me. What has our little Richie been up to this last century? Besides the _Intrepid_." The pair briskly walked arm in arm out the wood doors. 

"Well, I first encountered the dread Professor Ryan for ethics class at the Academy. That was long before I met Jack...." The doors closed on her story, returning the deserted lounge to peace once more.

* * *

Richie wished he knew what peace was. His tormentors had come back for him, more sadistic than ever. They were dragging this out. In any other hands, he would have broken long before now. But it seems they weren't after information. Just his pain. 

A hand grabbed his hair and dragged him to his feet. His head lolled to the side, spittle dripping down his chin. The Immortal had stopped caring about anything but the pain. "I wonder if you can die from sheer agony," the voice whispered in his ear before he was released and his body crumpled to the floor. 

He heard it then. A sound dredged up from his memory. The unmistakable whine of a 'oy'naQ, a Klingon painstick. The bright light of the tip forced its way through his clenched eyelids as the whine became louder. Then the stick touched his skin and he screamed. His universe burst into blinding white agony...

> **_2347 A.D. -- "Federation Embassy", Qo'noS_ **
> 
> _"I say again, I do not like this," Riva cautioned. His voice came from behind and left of the Immortal, but the Ramatisian was in front of Richie, fidgeting like a schoolgirl. "We can find another way around this," the female Wisdom urged again. Riva's eyes were fearful. What was being planned was dangerous to fully prepared Klingons. And for a human to try it...._
> 
> _Richie tried to placate him. "I won't die, and this will only help our cause." The Immortal smiled. "Besides, isn't it dangerous to not use all the means at our disposal?" He glanced sideways to catch Sarek pacing across the room._
> 
> _The Vulcan stopped. "It may be logical to...reiterate one's words for them at a later date. It is not logical to equate the two events." Richie raised an eyebrow. "But then again, you are not known for your logic." Sarek bowed. "I will leave you to your meditation." With precise steps, he left._
> 
> _"I too must go," Intellect offered for Riva. The Ramatisian also left, followed by most of his chorus. Richie watched them leave, knowing the worst part was ahead of him. Waiting._
> 
> _Nostrum moved in front of him. "They're right, Teacher. You are not fully prepared for this." The young prince had spent the morning assisting in Richie's dressing. A specially tailored outfit had been made for him. He had been surprised how comfortable the Klingon clothing had been once he had it on. It had always been assumed that part of the reason Klingons were so grouchy was the outfits. Especially the boots. He peeked down at the cumbersome pointed toes he was currently wearing._
> 
> _"I just hope no one gets a picture of me like this," Richie joked, trying to lighten the mood. Nostrum smiled as he reached out and adjusted the leather overlay again. In the last year, Richie had grown rather fond of the young man, and he could tell this was upsetting. "I'll be fine."_
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _The Ascension chamber was full of smoke and heat. A small crowd of onlookers had already gathered in the halls surrounding the sacred room. K'trik glared as Richie walked past, accompanied by B'Erell and Nostrum. Murmurs followed along through the crowd. It felt like the Immortal was walking to his execution._
> 
> _"Remember, the nentay is a test of your spiritual worthiness," B'Erell instructed as they walked. "You must reveal your innermost thoughts while under duress. On those, you will be judged. You must not turn back. You must not show weakness."_
> 
> _Nostrum snorted on the other side of the Immortal. "And dying is definitely not acceptable," he sarcastically added. B'Erell looked as if she would kill the prince on the spot, but Richie stopped her._
> 
> _"He's as worried as you are," Richie pointed out. Then time ran out, and the trio stood before the entrance. B'Erell and Nostrum entered and moved to the far side, where the Klingon's family would normally wait. Between them and Richie, two risers flanked a pathway. Four Klingons stood on each, all showing some degree of anticipation at the ritual ahead. It was Richie's task to walk the path to the other side. He hoped it would be as simple as that._
> 
> _"I have come to take the Rite of Ascension. I am of Age. I come to attain a new level of enlightenment." He stepped forward and stopped between the first set of Klingons on either side. With restrained glee, they poked him with 'oy'naQ. His skin turned red as his muscles jumped from the agony. Richie's arms dug into his sides, unconsciously trying to protect himself. A wave of nausea flowed over him. "I am frightened," he admitted, his voice ringing in the gloomy chamber, "but I do what I must." Again the first two stabbed him with the sticks, agony pouring over him. "I do this to stop the mindless bloodshed between our two people."_
> 
> _He stumbled forward to the next set. "Honor is not found in mindless butchering," he began. His scream cut off the rest of the sentence. His face was twisted in pain, flushed and red. His voice jumped three steps. "Honor is in facing your enemy and looking him in the eye. Challenging him to fight." His feet carried his bent body forward. He was half way there. "Your sword is a part of you. A true warrior...." The third set of sticks touched him, on shoulder and hip. "Aaaaaaa," the Immortal cried as he fell to his knees. Even that move brought no relief; the 'oy'naQ followed him down. When it was over, he was on the floor, breathing heavily._
> 
> _His voice was raspy as he finished his sentence. "A...true warrior lives by the codes of honor. They are his refuge." Somehow, he managed to crawl to the final position, the last two Klingons waiting until he stood before touching the sticks to his body. "Death before...." Richie had nothing left to give. His body jerked from the pain as blood ran from the Immortal's tearducts. They let him have three tortured breaths before they touched him again. His scream of torment echoed savagely in the room._
> 
> _Silence descended as the assemble crowd held their breath. Richie voice was soft and labored, but still audible in the quiet. It was full of gasps and wheezes. "I do not fight...for glory or fame. For money or...causes. I do not lay down...my life for others, or risk my...existence for peace or prosperity. I fight because...to not do so would make me...something other than I am. I fight to protect...my name and my honor. I fight so no man...will challenge my word."_
> 
> _It took another ten minutes for the Immortal to crawl the final meter. No one helped. No one left. They waited for the man who would be Klingon to finish what was started. And by God, he did. He reached his friends at the far side and collapsed into their arms. The pain was over, for now._
> 
> _"What name do you wish to be known among the Honorable?" A deep Klingon voice boomed in the chamber._
> 
> _"Rich...ie," the Immortal gasped. It was too hard to say anything else._
> 
> _"And your father's name?" the voice asked._
> 
> _That question Richie wasn't prepared for. Mentally voicing a small prayer for forgiveness, he uttered, "MacLeod."_
> 
> _The voice continued. "You are R'chIy', son of M'QlowD. You have found the enlightenment you have been seeking. Behold a warrior of honor arises today!" And the shouts echoed in the Ascension chamber, mirrored by shouts in the hallways and corridors. The shouts continued out into the streets and on into the night. The Klingons had welcomed R'chIy'._

"You fool!" an angry voice spat. The painstick was dragged from Richie's side and the Immortal heard sounds of a scuffle. He was too weak to open his eyes, let alone understand or answer the questions that followed. Someone growled nearby. "Clean him up and let him rest. Then we will find out what is going on."

* * * * * * * *

After a quick shower to remove the dried blood, Richie was given a work overall two sizes too big. They also left the manacles on his wrists as he washed up. Two burly Klingons stood guard at the door while he slept. It was amazing how much a short nap and wash could improve an Immortal's outlook. _Good as new_ , Richie dryly thought.

Dinner was brought to him. He sniffed the various bowls settling on gagh and a little of the ro'qegh'Iwchab. Every time he thought of it as blood pie, he gagged. It really was quite tasty, despite its nauseating consistency. "Want some of this?" Richie asked the guards, just to antagonize them. 

"Come with us," another set of guards ordered when they appeared. Richie got his first clear look at the Klingon bird-of-prey. An old one, by his calculation. Probably before they started calling them the K'Vort class. He figured out his location fairly quickly, surprised he was being escorted toward the bridge. His confusion ended when he saw who was there.

Gowron, leader of the Klingon High Council was watching for the Immortal's entrance. "R'chIy'" he acknowledged, adding a small bow used with honored elder warriors. A few Klingons surrounding him looked less than pleased. Downright hateful, in fact. "Congratulations on your anniversary." 

"Chancellor," Richie replied. He hid a small smile of his own as the formal greeting was exchanged. If the ruler of the Klingon people wished a small display of ceremony, then so be it. "The Rite of Ascension is always a...reaffirming part of spiritual growth." 

The Klingon leader got the joke. He graced those present with a tooth-filled grin. "Diplomatically put." He motioned a small cushion be brought forth and set in front of him. Richie moved accordingly and knelt. "So is the wrong end of a d'k tang, I hear." There were hidden meanings plainly evident in the words. That they were even conversing in Standard was laced with interpretations. 

"I wouldn't know," Richie replied. Despite the recent several hours, he was beginning to enjoy the verbal sparring. Though it seemed their opponent had yet to enter the fray. 

A large Klingon wormed his way to the open area of the bridge. "I demand satisfaction," he shouted as he pointed at the Immortal. "I have brought you here to prove this 'urwI' has dishonored himself, his family, and even the yejquv." The new arrival spat on the floor. "His challenge of my father was a calculated move to dishonor my family and shift blame from himself. I demand my family's honor be restored and this, this creature be naDHa'." 

Gowron smiled a challenge. "Strong words from a renegade chovnatlh. You have done nothing to disprove the resolution of a challenge ended over twenty years ago. You have kidnapped an honorable warrior from deep within an ally's territory. You have treated him without regard for his rank or position." The chancellor stood and stepped down off the center dais. "And you most certainly did not bring me here. It is the right of every honorable Klingon to be heard by a representative of the High Council. I am exercising that right for R'chIy'. You have yet to prove anything, K'lek, son of K'trik." 

That made the other Klingon even more mad. "That monster cannot die. His challenge to my father was dishonorable. There was no way my father could beat him." 

"At least you finally come to the point." Gowron turned to Richie. "Is this accusation true? You cannot die?" It looked to Richie that the grace period had just expired. 

The Immortal was loath to discuss this openly, but it seemed he had no choice. "I may be killed in battle. I do not age or get sick. But I can die." 

K'lek charged him. It took two large crewmen to pull him back. "You lie, ghargh. I have seen the blood pour from your body and yet you still live. How was my father suppose to be able to prove his innocence against that?" 

Gowron barked an order at K'lek, who finally stopped struggling. "We will find the truth to these question, K'lek. R'chIy', how may you be killed?" The Immortal approached the chancellor and whispered in his ear. Gowron nodded when he was finished and moved back. "I have heard ancient legends of your kind. You are right to keep this knowledge hidden. I rule...."

A loud howl erupted from K'lek. "How do you know he speaks the truth? I demand he prove he is capable of dying." Richie tried hard not to roll his eyes. This was the epitome of Klingon logic. Prove you can die by going ahead and dying. Even with all that headroom, this species was really lacking. 

The chancellor held up his hand, forestalling further outbursts. "This warrior has nothing to prove to the High Council. He is capable of dying. Just because his species is not as flimsy and weak as some others you have known does not invalidate the challenge. I remember K'trik failed to inform R'chIy' of the brak'lul before they began. They fought as uninformed equals. Your father lost and was found guilty of treason against the Klingon Empire. That stands. That shall not change." Angry muttering erupted like wildfire in the room. "You will return this warrior to the place you removed him from, and you will slink back into the night and bother us no more. Is that clear?" Without waiting for a reply, Gowron turned and left, followed by his personal guard. K'lek watched him leave, murder in his eyes. 

Once only K'lek's men remained on the bridge, two guards grabbed Richie, dragging him to the corridor. K'lek turned back to the main viewscreen and barked out orders. "I will have your death," he called out to Richie. "And that will restore my honor." The navigator powered up his console. "Set a course for Boreth!"


	5. Chapter 5

The conference room behind the bridge on the _Enterprise_ was filled. Most of that ship's senior staff was present, as well as Captain Lorrict and Adam. "I understand your concerns, Captain," Commander Riker was saying as he sat at the head of the table. "I'm sure we could loan you some of our junior officers. Long enough for you to limp back to Starbase 273." 

Pretar resisted the urge to grimace. "Thank you, Commander." He flicked a glance at Adam across the table, who sat calmly and quietly. "We can discuss the roster later." 

"I am curious why a ship of renegade Klingons would operate this far into Federation territory," Mr. Worf pointed out. Even though he was a Klingon himself, the security of the ship and Starfleet was his main concern. "It is unusual activity, even for misguided warriors." 

One set of doors whooshed open, and both Chief Engineers entered. The _Enterprise's_ Geordi LaForge strolled up to the table and set down a small but powerful looking device. "You wouldn't believe what we found attached to the shield emitters...," he began. 

"...a subspace transponder," Sonya Gomez finished. They were both out of breath, as if they hadn't stopped talking in a while. "Not only did it send out a subspace locator signal, but it was designed to sabotage the shields at a critical moment." 

Adam leaned forward. "When the Klingon ship attacked. It seemed weird that the shields were inoperable at the time." The Immortal thought for a moment. "That means they were after the _Intrepid_ specifically." 

"Ambassador K'talok," Pretar interjected. Everyone in the room turned and looked at him. "He was one of the last people that toured the ship. It would have been easy to sneak away and plant that. And Richie told me he had a run-in with that bastard right after the first test flight." 

"Richie?" Worf suddenly asked. 

Deanna placed a hand on Worf's arm. "Richie. Commander Ryan. The officer they took." Pretar noticed his cousin and the Klingon were more friendly than usual. He hoped it was a good sign she was interested. 

"I am beginning to understand," the security officer rumbled. Everyone seemed relieved someone had a clue. The Klingon fidgeted under their gaze. "I had not made the connection when I first saw the name. Not just Richard Ryan, but Richie Ryan. R'chIy' Ryan." Even though there was a subtle difference between the two names, most of those present didn't make the connection. Pretar looked around bewildered. The rest looked the same. 

Commander Riker leaned forward at the end of the table, clearly frustrated. "And what does that mean, Mr. Worf? Commander Ryan is a Klingon in disguise?" he barked. It seemed his few weeks of easy R&R while Captain Picard was away had turned seriously sour. 

Worf eyed the assemblage. "Professor Ryan is officially a dual citizen. To my people he is known as R'chIy', son of M'QlowD. He was a Federation ambassador during the Federation-Klingon Peace Talks. He passed the trials for Klingon adulthood, and was given the status of warrior of the Empire. There were...complications with the talks. I would imagine the house of T'rak may be involved." 

"Isn't he a bit young for all that?" Riker asked. "You must be thinking of his father...." 

"I believe I understand what Mr. Worf is saying," the android Data interjected. Pretar had heard many stories about the officer from Deanna. It was great to see him in action. "The renegade house of T'rak may attempt to use Commander Ryan as a bargaining chip to restore their honor. I cannot theorize a connection, however. There are no detailed accounts of his exact involvement with the T'rak in any Federation databanks." 

The Klingon security officer coughed. "That was intentional. It was part of the negotiations that purely internal Klingon affairs be removed from the official transcripts released to the Federation." That got a reaction from everybody. "Ambassador R'chIy' accused a member of the T'rak family of the sabotage of the _Intrepid_. That is how they lost honor." 

Pretar was definitely confused. "I thought the second _Intrepid_ was destroyed by an accidental warp core breech. It was sabotaged?" 

"Yes," the Klingon replied, as if all the speculation were fact. "R'chIy' not only fought off a legion of Klingon warriors that had boarded the ship, but somehow made his way to the planet without transporter or escape pod. Legend has it he fell from the sky, full of vengeance for those who were not able to escape. He is...well known among my people." 

Data jumped in when Worf took a breath. "This is...fascinating. These details are not mentioned in the Federation records. How do you know of them?" 

The Klingon bared his teeth in a smile. "My father was aboard the _Intrepid_ during the peace talks. He considered Ambassador Ryan a friend. That was how he, and then later myself, learned of the true events." 

"So the Rozhenkos knew the entire story? How did it end?" Will Riker asked. 

Worf nodded. "The ambassador fought to determine the truth of the accusation. He was victorious, proving the T'rak involvement. That family was discommendated and the members executed." This was all starting to make bizarre sense to Pretar. "Most of the honorable ones committed suicide after the discommendation. Others in the family were caught and...dealt with. But not all the family was on the Homeworld." 

Will Riker nodded, cutting into the discussion. "That would make sense. They're out for revenge. This is the first time the rest of the family has been able to get their hands on a relative of Professor Ryan's." 

"I do not believe that is correct," Data pointed out. Commander Riker turned to him. He stared unfocused out the windows, his head occasionally twitching as he said "searching..." over and over. Then he stopped and his eyes raked the group. "There appears to be no other 'Richard Ryan' in any Starfleet database since 2160. That would indicate this 'Commander Ryan' is the same person as 'Professor Ryan' at the Academy when I attended. Also 'Ambassador Ryan' at both the Khitomer Conference of 2293 and Mr. Worf's 'R'chIy' Ryan' of the Federation-Klingon peace talks of 2346 to 2349. We can also assume this is the same 'Richard Ryan' that signed the Federation Constitution in 2161." 

Commander Riker found his voice first. "Are you saying the Klingons not only kidnapped Red Alert Ryan, but he's been around for two hundred years?" 

Data nodded. "I believe that is what I just said. I can confirm with a 98.7 percent probability based on visual records that Professor Ryan of 2341 is the exact same person as Commander Ryan of today." 

"He is most certainly R'chIy'," Worf added. 

Will still wasn't convinced. He punched up Richie's current service picture along with "Professor" Ryan's on the screen behind him and turned around. "That's crazy. How can..." He stopped when his eyes focused on the picture. "My god. It's the same person. That's not possible." 

"It is possible," Adam announced. "He was actually born in the late 1900's," the Immortal pointed out. "Don't ask any more. That's all I can tell you." 

Mr. Data absently nodded, if that was possible in a sentient machine. "That explains a great deal." Riker slowly rotated his head until he faced the golden-hued officer. Apparently Data recognized the expression. "Commander Ryan's service record is highly irregular. There are many gaps and confidential areas. If someone was not conducting a comprehensive global search for all the records -- it would be easy to not connect the other pieces. And to assume it was a relative. But it is one service record." 

"I'll be...," Riker quietly breathed. "We need to alert Starfleet Command...." 

"Already done," Adam interrupted. Pretar wondered what secret the Immortal would reveal now. "I've already contacted Starfleet Intelligence. He's probably out of Federation space by now." 

_That's not the whole truth,_ Pretar silently reminded himself. He half expected Richie's sharp reply before he remembered the bond had been severed. That ignited a whole wave of depression. It seemed the stimulants Dr. Crusher had given him were wearing off. "I agree. This is best left to the experts." He could tell Commander Riker wasn't happy with that answer, and Beverly and Deanna were confused. But the wild idea he and Adam had been bandying about needed complete secrecy. "Commander," he said, addressing Will, "let's go ahead and discuss those junior officers and we'll be on our way." Riker nodded, and everyone stood. "Adam, coordinate with Sonya if you would. I want to be able to leave for Starbase 273 as soon as possible." The Immortal nodded and then left. Deanna made a move around the table to join Pretar, but he minutely shook his head. She backed off, leaving instead with Beverly and Worf. The two Engineers left with Data, talking animatedly about the last of the damage control reports. 

"Coming, Captain?" Riker asked, waiting at the open door that led to the bridge. Pretar nodded. He quickly turned for one last glimpse of the stars as they sat motionless outside. 

_I'm coming, Richie. Just hold on. We're coming to save you, my friend. Please hear me. We're coming._

* * *

"Mr. Lavelle, if you will take the conn," Pretar called out an hour later. The new junior officers were fidgeting in the back of the bridge, waiting for their assignments. An eager young human bounced forward to the pilot's console. "Mr. Sito, Ops." A striking female Bajoran moved across to the newly repaired station. "Adam, would you care to handle Tactical?" 

The Immortal stood from one of the command chairs and moved toward the back of the bridge. The turbolift doors opened, and Danny Bird stepped out. "Already on it," he said, and stepped behind the console. 

Pretar was too drained to argue. "What are you doing here, cadet?" 

Danny refrained from a grin. "I'm still a field-promoted ensign. And nobody informed the transporter operators on the _Enterprise_ that we weren't suppose to be on the _Intrepid_." 

"You didn't answer my question." 

The ensign looked up from the console. "I thought you might do something like this. I owe Commander Ryan, and damned if I'm gonna stay behind." 

The captain faced forward. "Mr. Lavelle, set a course 165 mark 3. Full impulse." The young ensign quickly complied. "As soon as Ops alerts you that the _Enterprise_ is out of sensor range, change course to 224 mark 7, Warp 9.5. Mr. Bird. If you read another tachyon surge, don't wait. Blow it out of the sky." 

Sam Lavelle turned around in his chair, shocked. "What?" he asked. The other new officer looked equally confused from the operations console. "That's toward the Klingon demilitarized zone." 

"You have your orders, ensign," Praetor shot back. "Mr. Pierson, you have the bridge." Adam nodded as he moved back to the central command chairs. "I'll be in my ready room." With purposeful strides, he walked off the bridge. The tremors started as the doors shut. He knew he was leaving behind a group of people that deserved an explanation, but right now was not the time. The Betazoid wondered if it would ever be the time. Before someone else got hurt.

* * *

Richie was having a hard time convincing his body it should be hungry. He sat in the corner of the bare room. His hands nervously rubbed against the coverall cloth as he stared at the tray of food. Not that he disliked Klingon fare, on the contrary, he found several dishes to be intoxicating. No, it was.... 

_You're terrified they're coming back, man._ His muscles were poised to fight against the guards when they came for him. His stomach was already protesting the agony that would force him to regurgitate anything he ate. He was waiting for the torture to resume. 

Despite Gowron's orders, he knew the renegades wouldn't be letting him go so soon. Now that he knew who was involved, the future played out like a bad Superbowl. _K'lek, son of K'trik. B'Erell's nephew. Away with his mother when his father died. Or should that be executed? What did the High Council deem it?_

It didn't matter at this late date. The Klingon had probably figured out he was the same man that challenged his father, not some son or other relative. That made the revenge much more appealing. _Only he can't find a way to kill me. That's a laugh._

The Immortal might have found everything so amusing, if not for the people that had been hurt. He never could find out what had happened on the _Intrepid_ after he left. _Someone at Tactical had been shot at. Hopefully Adam. Yeah, having a distruptor blast go off in his face. That's a pretty picture. Who knows what happened to George. And the aftermath. A brand new ship decimated in a deserted system. Was there anyone near enough to rescue them? How many died?_ Richie didn't know, except one. 

Ever since his own death at the hands of K'lek, the bond with Pretar was gone. That could only mean one thing. Petey wasn't lucky enough to receive a miracle twice. That's what they had called it, that disastrous night when the Betazoid had gone into shock, his lover dead from the Borg. Richie had looked on helplessly until he felt the stirrings. Pretar was trying to connect with someone, anyone. The Immortal had reached out his hand and grasped Lorrict's in his own. And their existence changed forever. 

This time, he was surely dead. Another in a long line of mortals that had 'left' Richie alone in the cruel, dark universe. The first had been Tessa... _no, Emily Ryan. The last, Petey. And so many in between. So many dead._ He didn't find it odd he couldn't eat at a time such as this. He just leaned his head over and stared at the tray that held food. A cold, empty repast. Just like his life. When will they ever stop dying?

> **_2347 A.D. -- Qo'noS_ **
> 
> _"Barely made it," Richie said as he sat down. The prince just eyed him across the table. He had a right. He had been sitting here so long in this dive of a Klingon restaurant that he had already ordered his food. And was happily munching away when his mentor had appeared._
> 
> _Nostrum looked up from his plate. "Oh, I hadn't noticed." He returned to his food as the owner of the establishment marched up. She didn't look too pleased._
> 
> _"naDev vo' yIghoS. qaghaHQo Soj!"_
> 
> _The Immortal looked up at the woman. "Please? Anything you have left in the kitchen would be appreciated. netlh tlho'. vISopnIS." The owner snorted and left. "You'd think she'd be a lot nicer, considering how much we eat at this place."_
> 
> _"She's not the only one who isn't pleased with you right now. Where were you last night?" Nostrum waved his fork at the Immortal. An angry look gleamed in his eyes._
> 
> _"Last night? B'Erell and I went to...." Richie knew why he was in the dog house. "Damn. The bat'telh finals were last night. Did you go anyway?" The Immortal and his student had planned for weeks to attend the last few matches of the yearly contest. And Richie had been distracted by a quiet picnic B'Erell had planned._
> 
> _The young man shook his head. "They wouldn't let me in. Said something about Klingons only." The disappointed look on his face pained Richie. He remembered vividly when he had been let down by people he looked up to._
> 
> _The Immortal sighed. "I'm sorry. Things have gotten really tight these last few days. When B'Erell showed up and promised a quiet evening away from the Capitol, well, I jumped at the chance. I forgot, and that's inexcusable."_
> 
> _"And today?" Nostrum asked as he finished his food._
> 
> _"I got jumped on the way out of the Council chambers. By K'trik and his gang. God, that was an argument. For a second, I thought it might come to blows." Richie's face was still a little flushed from all the shouting. That gang just didn't get it. Words and threats weren't going to make the Federation give up on the peace treaty._
> 
> _Nostrum sat quietly and stared at his food. The owner finally returned and set a steaming plate in front of Richie. "qatul voQ!" she spat. She quickly turned and left. The two men sat and stared at one another._
> 
> _"Look," Richie said. "I'm sorry that things are going fast around here, and my attention is on other things. I'll try and make it up to you." The Immortal thought a bit. "I may be able to find someone who recorded the fights. We could borrow it, and have our own little analysis party. But you got to cut me some slack right now."_
> 
> _The young man looked up from his empty plate. "I guess." His voice didn't sound very convinced. Strangely enough, it sounded a lot like Richie's when he was younger. Especially sitting across the kitchen island in MacLeod's dojo loft. Staring at a plate of food._
> 
> _"I do know how you feel," Richie said very gently. "I know what it's like to sit where you are and listen to the words. Give me a chance." The Immortal reached over and placed his hand on his student's. "I have a lot of things on my mind. But trust me, you are always on my mind." That got a smile. He picked up his fork and dived into the food. "Mmm. This is pretty good." It was heavily seasoned with something like garlic, only stronger. "Try some of this."_
> 
> _The bait was swallowed hook, line and sinker. One of the many traits the two men shared was food. Nostrum was still using the excuse of being a growing boy, while Richie just ignored any comments thrown in his direction. To keep the musings down, they habitually snuck out to places such as this restaurant. Here they got stares from their appearance, not the amount of food they consumed. The Ramatisian eyed the orange pile on Richie's plate. He broke down and snaked his fork over, digging a small sample out to taste. "Ummm huumm. This is pretty decent stuff. What is it?"_
> 
> _Richie had no clue. He took another bite to savor the taste. "It's a little like chab. We'll have to ask next time we come in." The gagh was delicious, still squirming on the plate. Nostrum reached over for another helping of the orange stuff. "I have a few hours open right now. Feel like an impromptu workout? They always made me feel better."_
> 
> _"I think Riva is helping Maggie with translations. In that case, he's only using Trecean." The young man finished off his drink and settled back in his chair. "Sure. I just need to clear it with Riva."_
> 
> _That brought a small smile to Richie's lips. "Good. What do you want to try? Bat'telh? Swords? Wrestling? Feel the need to rip my head off?" A sudden twinge in his brain made the Immortal wince. He pressed his fingers into his temples. "Damn. This may not be such a good idea."_
> 
> _Nostrum looked like he agreed. He clutched his stomach at a sudden pain. "You're right. Maybe a nice, long massage...." Richie looked up as Nostrum drifted off. The young man's face slumped into the table with a loud thump. The disorientation grew worse for the Immortal. The room began to spin and blur. He rose unsteadily to his feet, keeping a grip on the table. His legs gave way and he fell to the floor, the limp form of his student his last sight. Then his body relaxed totally and darkness claimed him._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _The light hurt his eyes. Then the beeping started. A dark shadow crossed in front of his face and brought some relief. "He's awake, doctor." The words made sense, but they were so loud. Richie tried to raise his hands and push whoever it was away, but his extremities felt like lead. His whole body felt like lead._
> 
> _Another shape bent over him. "Good. I don't know how he did it, but this is a positive sign." Richie tried to talk, but his mouth was too dry. He blinked, trying hard to get his eyes to focus. The face of Commander James came into view, as well as one of the starship's doctors. "Stay calm, Mr. Ryan. You're aboard the_ Intrepid _."_
> 
> _"Wha...what ha...happened?" the Immortal managed to ask. The doctor looked at Commander James, who shook his head. "T...Tell me." Richie was getting angry. He concentrated, and managed to raise a hand high enough to grab the First Officer's maroon jacket. "What's happened?"_
> 
> _"You were found comatose in that restaurant you were visiting," the doctor told him. Commander James just scowled and picked off Richie's hand. Without another word, he turned and left. "You had apparently been poisoned. We kept trying to come up with an antidote, but no luck. You fought the poison for two days, and this morning you finally died. We managed to resuscitate you two times, and you've been getting better all day."_
> 
> _"Nostrum," Richie gasped. If he had been poisoned, there was a good chance his student had been as well._
> 
> _The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry. He was already dead by the time we found you." That news struck Richie like a bullet. His body went limp again, his mind furiously spinning. Someone was doing their best to kill him, and now innocent people were dead instead. "We don't think he was in very much pain..."_
> 
> _Richie wanted to scream, but he was too tired. It wasn't fair. The universe was just un-fucking-fair. The Immortal felt the emptiness deepen inside of him. He had lost another friend. He had lived; Nostrum had died. So unfair._
> 
> _The doctor could see the agitation. "There's more." Richie just rolled his sad, bleary eyes toward the man. "The other Ramatisians were attacked by a mob two days ago on the way to the meetings. Riva and Bethly sustained minor injuries, but Trecean was killed. The High Council informed us they would look into it."_
> 
> _That made sense to the Immortal. With two of the chorus dead, Riva was silenced. Richie's death virtually broke the connection to the High Council. Someone was doing their best to drive the peace talks into the ground. And drive the Federation away. The Immortal struggled to get up, but his body was still too weak. He crumpled back on the biobed. He felt more helpless than he had felt in a very long time._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _"You are awake," Sarek said when Richie opened his eyes again. The Vulcan had the annoying habit of stating the obvious. "We must talk."_
> 
> _"So talk," Richie replied. Even though he felt ready to crawl into a hole, he respected the Vulcan enough to listen. "Pardon my hostility, it's not directed at you."_
> 
> _Sarek nodded and interlaced his fingers. "Most humanoids react to pain with anger. I expect you will be short-tempered for a time. That is not what we need to discuss." The Vulcan walked over and presented a padd for Richie's inspection. "The diplomatic corps has granted you full ambassadorship as of yesterday."_
> 
> _The news would have normally made Richie ecstatic. He didn't feel like celebrating. "That's nice," he deadpanned. If the bureaucrats back home had done it a year ago, the talks might have been over and Nostrum wouldn't have died. "Too little, too late," he whispered._
> 
> _"But necessary to the continued peace talks," Sarek pointed out. For a moment, Richie had forgotten about their superior hearing. The pointed ears and all that. "Our biggest problem at this time is the situation with Riva." That sparked Richie's interest. He sat up on the bed, nervously smoothing out his medical gown. "With two of his chorus dead, we face losing one of our biggest assets. The voice of Wisdom is not enough."_
> 
> _Richie thought back. "Can't you interpret for him?" he pointed out. The Vulcan had not done so since the reception on the_ Intrepid _when they first met. "You don't do that much speaking yourself during the meetings."_
> 
> _"There is the same limitation he has now," Sarek replied. "I am incapable of assuming his warrior aspect. Previously, that facet was not needed, but now...." Sarek moved closer to the biobed. "The two most vital keys to these talks are Riva's Warrior aspect and your unique viewpoint. I believe I have a solution that would satisfy our dilemma."_
> 
> _Ever since the Immortal had lived on Vulcan, he had learned to watch the usually impassive face of a Vulcan and tell their hidden emotional state. Sarek's eye ever so slightly twitched, a sign he was nervous. "Go on," Richie hesitantly urged. When a Vulcan was nervous, it meant trouble._
> 
> _"I believe it is possible for you to assume the Warrior aspect of Riva's dialog." If it was anyone other than the famous Sarek of Vulcan, Richie would have laughed. Instead, he stifled the chuckle, but his eyes gave him away. "I am serious, Mr. Ryan."_
> 
> _The Immortal broke out into a smile. "I'm sure you are. Just how would such a feat be accomplished? Doesn't it take years for an person to learn how to be an Aspect? Nostrum said...." For a minute, in his excitement, Richie forgot about his friend. Now it all came flooding back._
> 
> _Sarek stood as stoic as a statue. "I believe your latent telepathic ability can be augmented. Enough for you to receive and interpret Riva's thoughts."_
> 
> _It took a moment for Richie to process that statement. "My what?" he asked in shock. "What are you talking about? I'm not telepathic."_
> 
> _"You most certainly are," Sarek replied evenly. The Immortal's emotional outburst passed him like a wave over a rock. "You are apparently tuned quite closely to Riva's own harmonies. As witnessed by your first contact." Richie thought back to the reception, where Riva's touch caused him to faint. "You were receiving information directly. Your mind was not equipped to handle such a load, and so it shut down."_
> 
> _"I'm telepathic..." Richie murmured._
> 
> _Sarek nodded. "Tell me, have you had any incidents of nervousness about the future? Ones that came true. Have you ever picked up thoughts from those close to you? Have you ever been able to tell what was in a container before you opened it?"_
> 
> _"But I always thought I was...," Richie began. "...crazy." He looked at the Vulcan sheepishly, but there was no disdain or pity in his eyes. "But rarely, like once or twice a century, yeah, I feel things."_
> 
> _Sarek sat on the edge of the biobed. "Your channels are not fully opened. I believe I can open them with minimal damage to you. With resonant harmonies, you should be able to communicate quite clearly with Riva, and serve as his Chorus. This would also allow his input when you speak directly to the Council."_
> 
> _"So what's the bad news?" Richie asked. So far, it sounded like his sales pitch when he was selling used cars. He never liked the patter then, and he certainly hated it now. "There's a down side to this, or we would have done it by now."_
> 
> _"You could go permanently insane. Withdraw so deep into your psyche that you would never emerge." Sarek's voice never wavered as he rattled off half a dozen horrible consequences. "And this would be something you would have to live with for the rest of your life. You would probably need to take extensive training to control your new abilities. For now, if we situate you directly to Riva, there should be minimal problems. Once this is over, though, you would have to establish a deeper control to survive and live among a large population."_
> 
> _Richie cracked a wry grin. "People would blow my mind."_
> 
> _"Essentially, yes," Sarek replied, ignoring the double entendre._
> 
> _The Immortal stood and looked the Vulcan in the eye. "You know more about this than me. The risks, the dangers. You have more experience at diplomacy than me. Would you risk it?"_
> 
> _It was a long moment before Sarek replied. "Would you give your life for peace?"_
> 
> _Richie never hesitated. "Too many have died for this already. Not just the people here, but all those who have fought the Klingons in the past. I'd do anything to stop this madness."_
> 
> _"There is a good chance your determination will see you through." Sarek moved to the head of the biobed. "Lay down." Richie complied, trying to compose his thoughts. He felt Sarek's warm fingers brush his face, searching for the right contacts. "Your thoughts are my thoughts," the Vulcan whispered. The Immortal heard them from his ears, yet his own voice was producing it. "Our thoughts are one." He felt his face under his fingers, and Sarek's ear near his mouth. "We are one." He was/is Richie/Sarek. An Immortal/Vulcan who fought/spoke for years/centuries with other Vulcans/Immortals and Duncan/Spock and Kirk/Miranda/Amanda/Tessa...._
> 
> _A window opened in Richie's mind. It was like having lived in a dark, sightless room for four hundred years and suddenly opening a door. A blinding white light exploded in his consciousness as 1.5 billion beings, the current population of Qo'noS, were perceived simultaneously. The Immortal reacted like he had always done._
> 
> _He screamed. And they heard._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _One and a half billion Klingons felt the cry and unconsciously looked to the sky. A howl for the dead some would later say. A miracle others would protest. And for one, a lover's shout of help before being swallowed by the oblivion._   
> 

* * *

Methos looked again at the closed ready room doors. Captain Lorrict had retreated there moments before the _Intrepid_ had changed course toward the Klingon Empire. That had been ten hours ago. So far, no one on the bridge had commented. Not knowing what else to do, the Immortal had called for replacements of the three bridge posts. Another set of new, personality-challenged faces appeared and slid into position like gears. That was a good and bad point. 

Danny Bird had to be ordered to leave. Methos emphasized the fact they wouldn't reach Klingon space for another ten, possibly twelve hours. The young man muttered something about long shifts and finally let himself be relieved. Right now, everything was quiet. The perfect time to check on the Captain. "You, ensign." The young woman at the conn turned around. "I'll be in the Captain's ready room. You have the bridge." 

That seemed to surprise her. "Yes, sir!" she responded, suddenly enthused. Another look around the bridge, and he strolled over to the doors. One press at the call button got no response. Luckily, no one was watching. The second and third buzz failed as well. Reluctantly, the Immortal resorted to a childish cadence of buzzes, enough to drive any sane person to the brink. The doors slid open when he reached the second chorus. 

It was dark in the ready room. The only light was brief flashes as the stars shot by at warp. Their multicolored streaks cast a variety of colors around the room. And a rather large room it was. It took a second to spot the Betazoid on the upper level couches, a dark mass against an even bigger shape. 

"You remind me of Richie," Pretar softly said. There was a barest sound as he shifted on the couch. Methos stepped fully into the room and let the doors close. Instead of rushing to hover over the Captain, the Immortal strolled across to the replicator. 

"Do you want anything?" Methos asked. The Betazoid stayed silent, lost in his own thoughts. _Apparently not._ "Computer, mead, hot." Surprising, the whine of it being replicated greeted him, not the usual 'the selection is not available.' _God bless Richie Ryan._ A quick taste told him it was Darius' old recipe, aged to perfection. 

"Why are you doing this?" Pretar suddenly asked. 

Methos sighed and walked to the informal furniture under the huge bay windows. "Doing what?" he asked innocently enough. Oh, the Immortal had a pretty good guess where this was heading. And for some strange reason he was in a mellow enough mood to actually tell the truth for once. There was just something trustworthy about Pretar Lorrict. 

The Betazoid sounded unconvinced. "Coming with us. Chasing after Richie. It would have been very easy to stay aboard the _Enterprise_ , and get on with your life." Pretar shifted over, leaving room for Methos at the other end of the couch. Without much thought, he sat there. 

"You may find this hard to believe..." the Immortal began. The words stuck in his throat, as if speaking the truth was a foreign concept. Maybe it was. "I know Richie and I seem antagonistic toward each other. Part of that is my fault, a lot of it is because we don't see very much of each other. We're usually together with Duncan, and we tend to put him in the middle." 

Pretar nodded in the dark. "So I've gathered. Richie doesn't feel comfortable about his early life. I know he's angry and somewhat ashamed. About what I couldn't guess. He's not very vocal about it." 

"I guess not," Methos replied. He took a sip of the steaming liquid to collect his thoughts. "There was some information about me that Duncan knows. A secret. I insisted that it be kept from Richie. Maybe that wasn't wise." _What harm could it do?_ Duncan had asked. Methos had seen too many friendly guys start salivating at the thought of such a powerful Quickening. Perhaps Richie would have been different. But there was no reason to chance it. "It drove them apart. Richie knew something was up, and Duncan agonized each time he couldn't tell him. Maybe it was wrong." 

The Betazoid shifted on the couch. "And now?" 

"And now," Methos replied, "it may be too late." The Immortal emptied the last of his ceramic cup. "I'm not concerned about Richie for myself. That may seem harsh, but it's true. I could care less if he dies today or tomorrow. This is for Duncan's sake. He would have my head if I stood by and let Richie be killed. Especially if it has nothing to do with the Game."

> **_2092 A.D. -- Paris, France, Earth_**
> 
> _"I never should have told you that," the Highlander told him. "I was angry and hurt, and I voiced a doubt that should have stayed buried." Ever since Duncan had told him about the fear that taking in Richie had been a mistake, the older Immortal threw it back time after time._
> 
> _Methos looked out the porthole, undisturbed. "You said it. A part of you meant it. But look at yourself. You've tied yourself up in knots wondering if he's gonna phone you. That makes you sloppy. And that can get you killed."_
> 
> _Duncan shook his head. It was obvious he was getting tired of Methos reducing everything to the simple terms of kill or be killed. "Richie has been the brightest spot in my existence."_
> 
> _"Pardon me if I don't believe you," Methos snorted, wrapping the terry-cloth robe tighter around him. For some ungodly reason, Duncan insisted on cooling the barge down at night. "All I see is an unhappy man, just because a student isn't grateful enough to send flowers on your birthday." Sarcasm dripped. "What are you going to do when he actively turns against you? Fold up and die?"_
> 
> _The Highlander shuffled forward on the bed. "Don't tell me you never had a young one you cared about. Someone who got underfoot and made you madder than a hornet. Someone you worried night and day about. Someone who reminded you of yourself at twenty, or thirty, or god forbid a hundred."_
> 
> _"Not in a very long time," Methos replied._
> 
> _"Ah ha!" Duncan's feet hit the wood floor as he sat on the edge of the bed. "There was one or two. So why are you worried about me?"_
> 
> _Methos leaned on the back of the sofa, his bed for the last couple of days. "Listen well, Highlander. I felt like you did. For several people. They all died. Every last one of them. After a couple of centuries, you stop beating yourself up. And eventually, it stops hurting." The older Immortal didn't think he could vocalize it any better. "Just like you want to spare Richie pain, I want to spare you some. He's a grown man, MacLeod. He doesn't need you any more."_
> 
> _"Maybe I need him," Duncan spat back. "Maybe he's one of the few reasons I have to not find the closest headhunter and offer up my neck." It only made him angrier when Methos sadly shook his head. "Why do I even bother arguing with you?" The Highlander struggled with the sheets on the bed until he was comfortable._
> 
> _It was a while later before Methos settled back on the sofa. He had decided not to ask the Highlander about starting a fire. The rustling of sheets told him the other Immortal was still awake. "Duncan, I'm sorry. I'll go somewhere else...."_
> 
> _"Just shut up about Richie. You may not want to get close to him, but I'm already too involved. I've given my love and my life to that man, and even if I may have regrets or doubts...."_
> 
> _"I'll try and stay out of it," Methos finished for him._
> 
> _The Highlander stopped fidgeting. "You do that."_

* * *

"Captain, we're approaching the Klingon boarder," Danny informed the bridge. Pretar and Adam had spent a few hours dozing on the ready room sofas. Breakfast had been in a cup from the replicator. Once they crossed into Klingon territory, they needed to be alert and on their toes. 

Pretar turned and looked back at the ensign. "Thank you Mr. Bird. Scan for any ships in the vicinity. All we need now is to run into a patrol." Methos sat beside him in the other command chair. Lavelle and Sito were back at their positions as well. 

"Sir, I'm reading a ship just across the border. She's just sitting there" 

"Slow to impulse, Mr. Lavelle," Pretar ordered. A ship waiting for them spelled trouble. "Can you identify it?" 

It didn't take Danny long. "It's a... a Vor'cha attack cruiser. The _I.S.S. T'koh_. They're hailing us!" The young ensign sounded frightened, but covered it well. After being ambushed by a small Bird-of-Prey, a full attack cruiser could be very scary indeed. 

Before Pretar could finish his command of "put it through," a grim Klingon face graced the forward viewscreen. "Gowron," Pretar replied, recognizing the face. _So the leader of the High Council waited to meet us. Curiouser and curiouser._

***I was wondering when someone would come***

"Then you know about the abduction of Commander Ryan," Pretar asked. He wanted to get that fact on record as soon as possible. It might come in handy later when he faced a full court martial. 

***Yes. I have just met with the renegades who have him. They refused to follow my order to return him to you, and they have headed deeper into Klingon territory. It is such a shame you have stumbled onto such an unpleasant internal affair.***

_Internal affair, huh. That means we can't legally interfere._ "And what, pray tell, are you going to do about this...unpleasant internal affair?" Pretar didn't hide his anger. In fact, he seethed. "Shall we wait right here for word from the High Council about a resolution?" 

***There is no need. I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that such a valiant crew of our good friends, the Federation, was available to help one of our most honored Klingon citizens. Who also happens to be a member of the Federation. Such an outpouring of trust and common good will can only help our two governments come to a more harmonious understanding.***

Pretar sifted the words to their deeper meaning, searching for hidden catches. "You basically want us to do your dirty work for you. Find these renegades and get Richie back." The Klingon on the screen grinned. "Probably because any action on your part will undermine your already shaky hold on the Council." 

***R'chIy' always did surround himself with insightful people. I hope you edit those remarks out of your 'official' report.***

"Done," Pretar agreed willingly. "And they went...?" 

***Toward Boreth for some unknown reason. I will make sure this good deed is welcomed in the High Council.***

"I bet you will," Pretar replied. "I hope we meet under more pleasant circumstances next time." 

***I hope you survive long enough. He chu' ghoS! So'wI' chu'ta'!***

The Klingon cruiser vanished from sight before the communications link could be broken. Pretar leaned forward to Sam Lavelle. "Set a course for Boreth, best speed. Ensign Bird, I want a full report about that system as soon as possible. Mr. Sito. Sensors at maximum. Even with Gowron's blessing, I still don't want to be surprised." After issuing the orders, Pretar turned to Methos, still sitting silently beside him. "Who wants to get a nap and shower first?" 

The Immortal eyed the Captain. "Go ahead. I've been sleeping quite a lot longer than you have. Missing some now won't be a problem." 

Pretar flashed him a smile. "Good answer. Call me when you get tired." With measured steps, the Betazoid left the bridge. He stopped briefly for a gentle reassurance to Danny. As the turbolift doors closed on him, he wondered if there was anybody who would reassure him. _Probably not._

* * *

Richie felt the Bird-of-Prey drop out of warp. The minute change in pitch, or the ghostly feeling of slowing down. Whatever alerted him, he guessed they were near their destination. Maybe the ability came from centuries of space travel. Maybe a small part of his mental gifts was responsible. His gut churned as if someone was sounding his death toll. A strange concept for an Immortal. 

The ship lurched suddenly and sent him flying from the hard bench he was resting on. His hands flew out in front of him to stop his fall, the manacles digging into his wrists. He rolled along the deck plating until he impacted a wall. That elicited a vocal response. But no one was around to hear. 

It wasn't hard to guess they were entering atmosphere. That was one of the nice abilities about the K'Vort class, to land on a planet. Only a few Federation ships could do that. A sudden fluctuation in the artificial gravity sent him sliding the other way. He watched as the bench corner came closer. An instinctive grab with his hands failed as the manacles got caught under his body. He watched helplessly in the instant his head rushed toward his fate. And then he felt only a brief twinkle of pain. It was over.

> **_2348 A.D. -- Qo'noS Orbit_**
> 
> _Sleeping never came easy for an Immortal. At least, not to Richie. He woke up as the bed shook. For the briefest of moments he wondered if it was another Moonquake, until he remembered that had been two centuries ago. He landed on the floor with a thump and a sharp exhale of his breath. It was the_ Intrepid. _He had decided to spend the night aboard after a particularly bloody argument with B'Erell. Maybe that had been a bad idea._
> 
> _The ship bucked again, almost as if under attack. Richie found that thought crazy; they were in orbit over the Klingon Homeworld. No race in its right mind would dare attack a Federation ship here. The Immortal even dismissed the fleeting thought that the Klingons were attacking. That only left horrible accidents._
> 
> _As if to confirm his fears, the red alert sounded. Sharp klaxons blared as the ugly red lights flashed. Richie rushed into the corridor wrapped in a sheet, unconcerned about his appearance. Most of the crew did likewise. Smoke seeped from under the door to Main Engineering only a few feet from Richie's room. The other direction was filling with off-duty crewmembers, most in a similar state of undress as the Immortal._
> 
> **_*All hands - abandon ship. All hands - abandon ship.*_**
> 
> _Now that was a message Richie hadn't heard in a while. Pulling the sheet tighter around him, he followed the growing mass of people away from Engineering. A door opened suddenly to his left, a very sleepy Sergey emerging. "What is going on?" he asked before stifling a yawn._
> 
> _"Fire drill," Richie flippantly replied as he grabbed the warp specialist's arm. "It's time to go."_
> 
> _Sergey took in the noise, the red lights. A quick breath to clear the cobwebs and he took in Richie's state of undress. "You do not look like you should be going anywhere. I take it you are...?"_
> 
> _Richie blushed straight down to his navel. "I didn't replicate anything to sleep in. Besides, this'll give Ensign Wildman a chance to get a really good look." The Immortal always put survival over dignity. Especially after the challenge where he ended up naked but still with his head. "Come on," he urged. "We're almost to the escape pod."_
> 
> _They turned the last corner and saw the emergency pod airlock. There was a mass of people streaming toward it, but it was a relatively calm and orderly progression. Richie glanced behind and urged two stragglers into the line. Another tremor shook the ship, but no one panicked. They just started moving even faster._
> 
> _As they got closer, Richie could tell it would be a tight fit. But no one could be faulted for not trying. By the time the last four was within reach of the airlock, things had stalled. The Immortal shoved the two straggling ensigns in first. "That's an order," he yelled to stop any argument. His tone of voice must have worked; he had had no time to pin rank insignia on the sheet._
> 
> _"Get in," he told Sergey. The man looked as if he was going to argue. "Don't," was all Richie said. "You have a family to worry about. And I'm a lot sturdier than I look." Somehow, the people crammed inside managed to make room for him. He looked heartbroken as Richie initiated the launch sequence._
> 
> _The Immortal knew he was a sight; a young man with a sheet wrapped around his waist, surrounded by smoke and sirens. "I'll be fine," he tried to shout through the small clear window. And suddenly the pod launched, and Sergey's sad face became as small as a speck of dust._
> 
> _Survival instincts kicked in. There was a small five-man pod right off of Engineering. Assuming the crew hadn't use it. His feet flew as he ran back the way he came. He momentarily toyed with stopping for sweats, anything to wear. But the prospect of finding out how it felt to be spaced changed his mind._
> 
> _The doors to Engineering opened as he approached at a dead run, letting a billowing cloud of white smoke escape. He barely stopped, just turned and ran toward the warp core. It was a rather nasty surprise when he stumbled out of the acrid smoke and into a large party of Klingons._
> 
> _"ghuy'cha'," the nearest one cursed, dropping his disruptor. Richie hardly flinched. His bare foot snaked out and drove into the warrior's gut. Knowing he was outnumbered, Richie dove toward the warp core. His body snaked under the railing around the cylindrical conduit and twisted past toward the other side. He rolled over the far railing and backed to the far end of the room. Luckily, this side was Klingon free._
> 
> _One of the Klingons came forward out of the group surrounding the controls. It was hard to see any distinguishing features, but the Immortal knew who it was when he spoke. "So the naked, little toy'wI''a has come to play." K'trik oily tones seeped around the harsh klaxon. "Want to learn how it's really done?"_
> 
> _Another Klingon came up next to B'Erell's brother. "Enough. We are almost finished. Prepare for transport." It wasn't hard for the Immortal to tell they were reworking the main engine controls. But he didn't feel foolish enough to take on the half dozen disruptors trained on his defenseless body. Instead, he inched closer to the escape pod hatch._
> 
> _"Please, Maghk. He would make such a lovely pet. And he already knows several tricks." The sinister begging made Richie want to vomit. He could guess most of it was for his benefit. If they were trying to cause a warp core breech or something, K'trik would probably leave the Immortal here._
> 
> _"jol yIchu'," the leader shouted. Within seconds, orange transport beams surrounded the invaders. It only took a second for Richie to tell the escape pod was already launched. Choking down a curse, he ran for the controls, hoping he could stop whatever they had planned. He arrived in time for the panel to explode, sending searing sparks across his nude torso. This time he did curse._
> 
> _In the back of his mind, he could imagine the rising whine as the anti-matter containment field collapsed. In a fit of desperation, he ran toward the warp core, ripping up a trap door that opened on the deep core well. The area below the reactor core stretched all the way down to the bottom of Deck Fifteen, and from there to outer space. There might be enough seconds left to manually eject the warp core, and let the anti-matter explode in the relatively emptiness of space._
> 
> _Richie's stomach twinged as he looked down. He never really liked heights. One last deep breath full of acid smoke and he dropped down into the five story well. Around him, emergency doors swiftly shut, doing their best to contain the deadly explosion that would rip the ship apart. He barely gave any of that a thought, only focusing on the small manual panel near the ejection hatch._
> 
> _Focus, he told himself, over and over. Focus. He ignored the pain as he landed, fracturing several leg bones in the process. He dropped to his knees and pulled himself the few feet to the hatch controls. His security code unlocked the door, and his hand reached for the override button. But it was too late._
> 
> _Ten stories above him, the invisible magnetic containment field collapsed. A very large quantity of anti-matter suddenly and violently met with normal matter, and annihilated each other. The energy released was exponentially more powerful than matter could normally produce by itself. And this energy expanded outward, growing ever larger as each new bit of matter and anti-matter exploded as well._
> 
> _Richie's hand hit the button, initiating the opening sequence, when he heard the first of the explosions. The airlock's safeties retracted a second later, as a force not even God could control was born and grew. Like Lot's wife, Richie's faith faltered, and he too looked back. And was consumed._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _There was nothing but pain. And darkness. What was left of a man barely lived long enough to realize he wasn't dead. And then he was. Twice more the panicked feeling came; the irresistible urge to draw in a breath and hang on to life. But even if his lungs weren't burnt into a charred set of lumps in his chest, there was nothing to breathe._
> 
> _All he felt was pain. There was hardly enough time alive to experience anything but blinding agony. He just wanted it to end. To find that moment of everlasting peace. But his body, or what was left of it, fought on._
> 
> _It was so cold. How he could tell was beyond him. But then again, how he could exist in a vacuum, no matter the shortness. Was God punishing him? Is this Hell? An Eternity of torment one second at a time. Over and over, his body healed just enough to bring him from the brink. Then the moment of panic, and he painfully died again._
> 
> _There were times he thought maybe this would be it. His lungs might draw air, his muscles could be healed enough for a movement, something. But he was trapped in a shell that couldn't react as fast as his mind did, in that instant between deaths._
> 
> _More times came and went, each becoming a tiny bit longer than the last. Enough for despair to flitter across between agony and cold emptiness. Charred skin flaked off. And the vacuum steadily sucked the ash in the lungs away._
> 
> _Cold slowly changed to heat. The pain grew worse. His back was being flayed alive, by nothing at all. He could feel his skin being torn off. The heat advanced and dominated his gut and chest. His skin was red hot and liquid. This was Hell. Oh, God, I'm so sorry...._
> 
> _The heat lessened. He was aware longer, a mixed blessing. Cool hands caressed his skin, it's arms cradling him like a baby. Comfort he missed as a child. For the first time, his lungs briefly expanded and drew in air._
> 
> _A whine interrupted his silent universe. Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree tops. His Immortality was still working away, replacing dead and dying tissue with healthy cells. Air was sucked in and pushed out as his life's blood restored itself. It was a joyous occasion as his first squawk left his blackened lips._
> 
> _For the first time, the empty death did not draw him all the way under. His body had time to repair a little bit more. Healthy pink skin showed between the hardened cracks of traumatized tissue. It was still getting colder when he realized that thing he was seeing was sky. And he was seeing. His eyes had repaired themselves as well. He involuntarily coughed up the last of the damaged debris in his lungs, and gulped air with a passion. It still grew cold, and the noise was deafening.._
> 
> _He was falling. That thought intruded on his brain. Falling, flying, breathing, living, burning, healing. All the -ings his mind could come up with. He was a bird, gliding without the chains of gravity. That's what he was. A bird. That belonged with the sky. He suddenly realized what had happened and what he was going through now. And what terror he was about to experience._
> 
> _As a child, he had heard about the tragic crashes of satellites when they fell to Earth. Watched the ghastly pictures on the television. He was a living meteor, drawing closer to his end. A horrifying end._
> 
> _The whine grew, and with it the dread. The waiting for it to happen. He was in Hell. The Devil was chuckling at him, promising him life only to show him an even worse death. The thought of plowing into the Klingon soil terrified him. And he found himself begging that death would come sooner. He could almost feel the ground rushing toward his back. Coming closer and closer. "Oh, God," were the words that came strangled from his mouth. Each beat of heart he thought was the last one, each breath the final before he impacted the ground. This was no little ten-story fall._
> 
> _"Now. Now. It's gotta be now. Now." He chanted over and over. Surely this was it? But another second, another second, another second. The howling grew louder "Please, God, I don't want to feel it." When will he hit? "Please God, I don't want to feel the pain." When? "Oh, God." Howling. "Please, I don't..." Louder. "I can't...." A blink. "Please let me die before...." A beat. "Oh, God, let me die." A breath. "Let me...." A scream. "Pleaseee...."_
> 
> _God wasn't listening._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _Richie could hear the shouting inside the building even before he entered the doors. He walked stiffly and hesitantly. Even the remembered pain was almost as bad as the actual. Two days he had lain in the woods. His body had finally healed enough for him to climb out of the deep pit his landing made. When he stumbled across the farmhouse, he could barely put two coherent words together. And not because of any physical reasons. His body was nearly fine. It was his mind that had shattered._
> 
> _The couple and their two children had cared for him through the day. That night, he had found a nearby merchant that would let him ride toward the Capitol. A whole four days after the_ Intrepid's _destruction, the High Council was still fighting about the implications and recriminations. Well, not any more._
> 
> _"Mr. Ryan." Richie almost stumbled when he heard his name being called. It seemed an eternity since he was 'Richie Ryan'. But Sarek didn't know that. "It is gratifying to know you were able to make it off the ship in time."_
> 
> _"I didn't," the Immortal replied as he breezed past without stopping. This wasn't quite the time to chat with the Vulcan. He reached the main double doors, guarded by silent warriors. It was easy to throw them open, but his entrance was overshadowed by the arguments inside. The High Council was a madhouse._
> 
> _It took a moment to wind his way between shouting people. It seemed everyone had an opinion about what was going on. K'mpec, the current leader of the Council, struggled to restore some semblance of order. The pounding cut through the fierce words being bandied about, until finally silence reigned._
> 
> _K'trik took the opportunity to repeat his last remark. "The Federation is still trying to instigate a war. What better excuse than to blow up their own ship and blame it on us? Already an armada is formed just across our borders. We must act now!" The composer stalked around the open center of the room. Apparently, he was the main voice of the malcontents, and had the floor. "The treaty talks are a sham. Ever since Praxis, the Federation has been poised to conquer us. And today they have the justification."_
> 
> _"What better way to divert suspicion, nepwI'?" Richie shouted out before anyone else could rebut K'trik. The mass of Klingons let him make his way to the open circle. "And you were in Engineering moments before the warp core breach, because.... Why exactly were you there?"_
> 
> _There was no hiding the shock on K'trik's face when he saw the Immortal. "This...this is impossible." The crowd reacted as well, but not for the same reasons. It took K'mpec over a minute to regain silence._
> 
> _"You accuse K'trik of sabotaging the Federation starship, R'chIy'? This is most unusual." The grumpy leader of the High Council leaned over in his chair, musing the accusation. "Do you have any proof of this, tera'ngan?"_
> 
> _The Immortal bowed toward the raised chair K'mpec sat in. "Only my word," he replied. "I was in Engineering while he and his cronies damaged the controls, and watched them beam away."_
> 
> _"He lies," K'trik countered. "He will do anything to start a war." The Klingon composer fairly spat on the floor in front of Richie. "Human!" That word brought grumbles from the gathered crowd. It was hard to tell if it was for or against the Federation._
> 
> _K'mpec considered. "And you, K'trik, have proof you were not there?"_
> 
> _"I was with companions. They will vouch for me." K'trik gestured to the crowd, several men whom Richie identified as being on the_ Intrepid _as well. "You would take the frothing of this ghargh over a true Klingon?"_
> 
> _That brought more mutters. The tension in the Council chamber increased steadily. "Your compatriots have already been charged of being with you. Their testimony is rendered suspect." K'mpec leaned forward in his chair. "Have you no other witnesses?"_
> 
> _"I have need of none," K'trik angrily pointed out. "How dare you...."_
> 
> _"Enough," the leader barked. Conversation was silenced as everyone in the room waited for a decision. "When there is no clear evidence to decide which party is correct, vIt yIqaD is called for. The Challenge of Truth. The honorable warrior will vanquish the dishonorable. batlh Daqawlu'taH!"_
> 
> _Almost instantly, the circle widened. Richie found himself alone with K'trik in the center. Two males brought forth bat'telh for each. The Immortal's opponent sneered. "Do you think you've played warrior with a woman enough to fight a true Klingon, Human?" K'trik made a half-hearted slice and laughed as Richie jumped back. "Let's see if you know how to handle your weapon, little loDHom."_
> 
> _One of the earliest lesson Richie learned was anger had no place in battle. That didn't mean a little repartee at the beginning wouldn't help. "At least I got a chance to use it. The only thing that hears your poetry is your hand." The Immortal chuckled as K'trik swiped again, still missing._
> 
> _The assembled crowd shouted too loudly to hear their words. Some cheered each swipe of K'trik's, but an equal number answered with Richie's dodges. The Immortal casually twirled his bat'telh as the pair circled. Someone needed to make an opening move._
> 
> _The Klingon lost patience first. With a growl, he attacked. He came in low, aiming for the hip. Richie sidestepped and blocked. With an added push, he knocked K'trik off balance, just enough to be noticed. That made the Klingon even angrier. Another snarl, another attack. K'trik tried an overhand slice that Richie blocked, his weapon raised over his head. But the Klingon was taller and more powerful. It only took seconds to drive the Immortal to his knees._
> 
> _Richie waited until K'trik had barely overextended himself, and then jerked to the side. The Klingon's weapon crashed to the floor next to the Immortal. Bent over, K'trik was fair game for Richie's kick. The crowd shouted louder. With the opening moves out of the way, the fight had truly begun._
> 
> _K'trik laughed as he moved again to the center of the circle. He had a right; he was the more powerful of the two and had a longer reach. But Richie had the benefit of constant training, though a lack of familiarity with the bat'telh. Stamina would probably be the deciding factor._
> 
> _It was time to attack, Richie decided. He made a side slash that was blocked, then pivoted the other end of the weapon around. K'trik stepped back while bringing his weapon down, lowering Richie's as well. It was his turn to kick out and connect. The Immortal dived to the right in a roll. He came up quickly, back on the defensive. K'trik failed to press his momentary advantage. Another clue for Richie's strategy._
> 
> _The Klingon came in low, an uppercut with the edge point. Richie knocked it aside with a golf swing, twisting around the opposite side to ram an elbow in the Klingon's side. With the weapons out of the way, Richie kicked again, this time to the back of K'trik's leg. That brought a curse from him as his leg gave way. The Immortal kicked again, but K'trik brought the back of the bat'telh back and swiped at Richie's leg._
> 
> _"Damn," Richie spat as his kneecap was crushed. The Immortal was definitely better at hand to hand, but K'trik knew how to use the weapon fully in a fight, something Richie had not yet developed. Richie hobbled back, giving the Klingon time to regain his feet. A bat'telh was heavier than most weapons, and the extra weight was slowing him down. Not to mention wearing him out much too fast._
> 
> _The fighters collided like two bulls in heat. Their weapons clashed with a sound that overpowered the collected spectators. Their faces were inches apart. Richie smelled the hot breath of K'trik. In a fit of desperation, the Immortal rammed his head forward. He had had success with the move in centuries past, but the Klingon's skull ridge did almost as much damage to the Immortal as K'trik._
> 
> _"Won't do that again," Richie cautioned himself as they stumbled apart. He reached his hand to his forehead. His fingers came away wet and bloodied. The red coating his hand gave him an idea. A way to quickly end this battle._
> 
> _In his practices with B'Erell, and with Nostrum, he had been careful to never get injured. How could he explain his miraculous healing if they ever saw it? Because of that, he fought conservatively. That was completely opposite when dealing with an Immortal. There, one could make deadly sacrifices that were only temporary inconveniences to an Immortal. Several times Richie had taken what would be a fatal blow if it let him get close enough to decapitate his opponent._
> 
> _When K'trik came at him again, from the side, Richie let the bat'telh slip under his guard and slide into his side. It hurt like Hell, but Richie gritted his teeth against the pain. His elbow came down and trapped the blade. His free hand sliced his weapon into the soft stomach of K'trik, who only looked on in shock. Warm body fluids gushed onto Richie as he pushed the Klingon away. The bat'telh in his side slid out and caused even more damage and pain. Richie found himself on his knees, mirroring his opponent only a few feet away._
> 
> _With determination, he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked over. His bat'telh dragged on the floor with an unnerving scrape. K'trik knelt on the ground, vainly trying to keep his gut wound together. Richie resisted the urge to say 'there can be only one'. He raised his weapon to K'trik's neck with great effort, ignoring the waves of pain from his side. "bIjeghbe'chungh vaj bIHegh."_
> 
> _The crowd grew silent as the Immortal asked for K'trik surrender. The Klingon knelt there, a soft growl escaping his throat. "jegh," he coughed. Richie backed away, each step a source of agony. The point of his bat'telh fell to the ground. There was no strength to do anything more than hold it limply. It was over. K'trik had admitted his guilt. A Klingon who had been telling the truth would have died in honor. The submission was a declaration of guilt. It was over._
> 
> _Richie heard K'mpec clear his throat somewhere behind him. He slowly turned at the noise. He was unaware K'trik had struggled to his feet and drawn a hidden disruptor until the Klingon shouted at him. "jagh luHoHmeH Dah qachenHa'moHlaH!" The Immortal turned and found himself staring at a disruptor set to kill. Without a thought, he picked up the bat'telh and charged the Klingon._
> 
> _His howl and sudden action must have spooked K'trik. The first shot went wide, barely grazing the Immortal's shoulder. Despite the pain, Richie ran forward and skewered the Klingon on the end of the bat'telh. But he wasn't finished quite yet. With the sudden adrenaline surge adding valuable energy, Richie kept on. His howl sharpened and rose in pitch. He pushed the Klingon backward through the crowd. Startled onlookers moved hastily out of the way and opened a path from the middle of the room. Momentum continued until they reached the wall, made from a duranium alloy, the hardest substance known to the race of warriors._
> 
> _The bat'telh point rammed the wall with enough force to drive into the metal. Using the last of his strength, Richie sank the weapon deep into the wall, pinning K'trik like a bug on a pin. Pink liquid spurted from the Klingon's mouth, the disruptor still clutched in the limp hand. The Immortal realized he was still screaming as he stepped away and took in the sight of the dead man, the life blood draining away. He couldn't stop himself. He had committed himself to a course of action and he found he could not end it so easily. He was paying back the pain and despair of Nostrum's death. And the many who died on the_ Intrepid _. Even Commander James. He raised his screaming mouth to the sky, shouting a warning to the dead souls that his friends were coming. To honor them as respected warriors. His bellow finally died in his throat as his air ran out. Too tired to draw in more, he sank to the floor. It was over._
> 
> _The Klingons in the room left him alone._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _"Mindless death," he whispered. No one had moved. Everyone waited with held breath for what was to happen next. Richie didn't know if he had rested there a minute, or an hour, or even a day. Time had ceased to mean anything. "We kill, they kill." Nothing meant anything. "We squabble over land that has no value. We harry and tease each other into needless action." There was no meaning._
> 
> _Richie suddenly stood, a man reborn in the eyes of the Klingons. He turned and faced the gathered crowd, High Council and citizens alike. "Without honor, death has no meaning. Do we fight each other for honor? Hardly." He looked over the crowd and saw only confusion. "We fight because we are jealous, or unhappy. We beat each other up because we are bored. We brandish our weapons at each other to prove we are strong. To prove we are worthy. All we prove is how unworthy we are."_
> 
> _The assembled parted like the Red Sea as he moved forward. "Do we fight to protect our lives?" he shouted. "Do we fight for food or land to sustain us?" Once again he reached the middle circle. "No! We fight because we are not like you. And we assume that there is no honor among aliens." He laughed, a sharp bark born of sorrow. "There is honor, but we are too blind to see it."_
> 
> _He lunged forward, watching as those nearest jerk back. "Twenty thousand died in the last three years. For what? Brave warriors and innocents alike. Is there any honor? Do we bicker and kill one another until there is nothing left of either one of us? Is that honor?" Spittle was flung out of his mouth as he shouted, but he didn't care. "I struggled to learn and understand you, and what do I find?" His hand jerked and pointed to the wall where K'trik was still pinned. "Klingons angry enough to shoot an honorable warrior in the back, JUST TO KEEP FIGHTING! Just to keep the hatred! That's honor?"_
> 
> _Richie found himself before K'mpec. "Dying serves no purpose! Killing serves no purpose! Are we warriors? Do we want blood or honor? What are we striving for, searching for? What do we want to be remembered for? What will they sing of us in Sto-Vo-Kor? Blood or honor?"_
> 
> _The Immortal found himself in a place of no concern, no worry. No need. His head felt like it would explode into a million pieces. But he couldn't stop. Not when he was so close. "Peace does not bring dishonor. A treaty does not end the glory. The battles are never over. You will not give up yourselves by saying 'no more' to the mindless bloodshed. The enemy is not each other, it's losing sight of what you are striving for. Give honor to those who have passed on. Let them know they died for something. True glory is not just winning. It's winning an honorable fight. And knowing it, in here." His fist pounded his chest. His blood covered hand. "It's time to decide who you are, and what you are. And what you will be. Be remembered for. It is time to decide the purpose of your race."_
> 
> _He limped away from the circle, dragging an aching leg behind him. His breathing was labored and his side was on fire. He looked neither right nor left as he walked. Only silence followed him. Richie was drained. There was nothing left inside of him. The double doors were opened, and no one waited on the other side. He didn't know if he wanted anyone there. The Immortal was so tired. Tired enough to call it quits. Empty enough to give up. He had no more to offer right now. Richie hoped it had been enough._
> 
> * * * * * * * *
> 
> _Two hours later, the T'rak family was stripped of their lands, titles, and wealth for treason against the Empire. B'Erell committed ritual suicide minutes later, assuring herself honor in the next life. Sarek had come to inform him of the news, and quickly left once he had done so. Ten hours after that, the peace treaty was signed. Richie waited outside the door until it was done, never moving from the spot. K'mpec came personally and told him, delivering the signed accord to the Immortal._
> 
> _"They say you fell from the sky, son of M'QlowD," the ancient warrior stated. He eyed the Immortal critically. "They are already telling stories about you in hushed tones, fearful that you might hear and be displeased enough to eat them whole. But I see before me that same Human that shuffled nervously the first day, looking so frightened by all the strange people, lost even among your own kind. Not Klingon, not Human. What, then, are you?"_
> 
> _R'chIy', son of M'QlowD walked away slowly and never looked back._

The Bird-of-Prey landed with a jolt. Richie's head was bounced on the deck. He groaned as he realized he had been on the floor for a while. But they weren't moving any more. _Show time_ , the Immortal thought.

* * * * * * * *

The two Klingon guards dragged him down the corridor. He had long ago used up most of his patter, and this time stumbled along in silence. The manacles still dug into his wrists, and the pair seemed to gain delight in throwing him around. The Immortal was too used to it to care.

They turned right instead of left, and headed for the rear of the craft. That was the location of the outer hatch and the ramp that led down to the surface. "So we're going out for a walk," Richie dryly noted. The guards just grunted. 

As they jerked him down the plank, Richie was assailed by the unmistakable presence of another Immortal. For the barest instance he hoped it was Adam, or by a bizarre twist Duncan, come to rescue him. That bubble burst when he realized there was no fighting, no weapons fire. Whoever was here on the planet was a friend of these renegade Klingons. And probably his enemy. 

There were two other ships nearby. A smaller Bird-of-Prey, of the B'rel class, and a rather decrepit freighter finished up the contingent. Groups from all three converged in the middle. Richie finally had the presence to struggle, but it was futile. The guards just barked and dragged him on. _OK, Ryan, now's the time to panic._

He quickly scanned the assembling crowd to try and find a human among the mass of Klingons. No luck. But if the other Immortal wasn't in the closer ranks, the taller Klingons would block them. Most just stared at him, a few glaring balefully. _Probably some of the T'rak family,_ Richie thought. 

K'lek grabbed the chain connecting his manacles and dragged him forward, toward a rather short Klingon. This one's hair was decidedly brown, and the glint in his eye truly mad. "Here is the ghargh, like we agreed," K'lek announced. The other Klingon advanced and slowly walked around Richie. It was an obvious once over. 

"I did not think there were any jubwI' among the Humans," the newcomer spat. He gave Richie another appraising look. "This will be interesting." 

K'lek jerked the chain and was rewarded by Richie's stumble. "And you can kill him?" he asked. The other just silently nodded. It took the Federation officer a moment to comprehend the Immortal he felt was in front of him. Not a human, but a Klingon Immortal. 

"Damn," Richie cursed under his breath. 

The newcomer laughed, a bellowing, frightful sound. With ease, he plucked the manacle chain from K'lek hands. "Yes, son of K'trik. I can kill him. Now go, your work is done, QIpwI'. Go!" 

K'lek spat in rage. "How dare you order me to leave? I have brought you to do my...." The sentence was never completed. K'lek looked down at the d'k tang plunged in his stomach. A slice through internal organs and another through both vertebrae in the spine killed the renegade swiftly and painlessly. K'lek fell dead to the desert ground. 

"And now, Human...," the newcomer began. With a jerk, he pulled Richie toward the other Bird-of-Prey. Not able to do anything but follow, Richie looked around. He was on a featureless plateau. In the distance, he could see large mountains that shimmered in the heat. The desert wind brought no smell of water or life. It was apparently a dead planet. 

A few outcroppings of rocks were closer, barely higher than a small hut. Just past the edge of the plateau, a small island of land was seen. A rope bridge connected the two. It looked to have been a part of the ridge once, but the area between it and the plateau now had fallen away. In the center of small area, another outcropping of rock. _That's probably why it hasn't fallen. It's supported by a rigid pillar of rock._ The whole area smacked of ceremony. As they moved closer, Richie noticed the plateau overlooked a sea of molten lava, gurgling far below. _Not a very nice place._

Once to the smaller Bird-of-Prey, his new captor reached for a bat'telh. Richie stood his ground as the blade swung toward him. With a clank, the weapon severed the chain connecting his manacles. He was relatively free. Richie stared at his hands and then looked to the Klingon. He noticed they were alone, the rest having moved a respectful distance away. "Why?" Richie asked. 

"You are jubwI'," the Klingon answered. When Richie failed to understand, the word was translated into Standard. "Immortal. You cannot die, except...." The Klingon trailed off with a laugh. 

Richie just stood there. "You are too. I can feel it!" This was so strange. He had never met another Immortal who hadn't been human. "So what do we do now? Are you rescuing me?" 

That brought another laugh. "We fight, tera'ngan. Is that not our way?" 

_Deep do-do_ , Richie realized. "Uh, yes," he admitted. "But there are rules...." 

Richie was interrupted by the Klingon's bark. "Of course. One to one. Until the death. We are ritual beings, are we not?" 

That gave Richie a measure of peace. "We are at that. So...do we do this now?" 

The Klingon scowled. "Of course not!" His face screwed into surprise. "We will fight in the morning, at first light. After our loSpa' tonight." He waited a moment for Richie to comment. "We will spend tonight in meditation, and prepare for tomorrow. You do not keep the Vigil?" 

Richie shook his head. "Our kind issues a Challenge to one another, where we state our names and our intention to fight. Then we find someplace private, with no interference." A quick look around showed the private part was unattainable. 

The Klingon correctly interpreted his glance. "They will remain inside while we fight. So, I challenge you, Human, to a fight to the death. I am Kahless." 

It was an interesting feeling Richie was experiencing. He could have sworn his eyes were popping out of his head. _Kahless?_ he wanted to scream. Instead, he stammered, "Richie Ryan," somewhat at a loss. 

"Untrue," Kahless barked. "You are R'chIy', son of M'QlowD. I have studied the records." The Klingon laughed, and patted Richie on the back. Enough to cause the human to cough. "You seem surprised. I did promise to return." 

"I just never thought...." But it all made sense to the Federation officer. Kahless? It seemed better to focus on the aspects he could fathom. Like the impending challenge. "So what else is there besides this vigil? We've satisfied my requirements." 

Kahless nodded solemnly, once more attuned to the business at hand. "We will fight at dawn. For as long as need be, until one of us is dead. That may be an hour, or days. There was one fight that lasted twelve. But he was a special opponent. You...." Richie didn't appreciate the way the word trailed off. 

"So am I free? Or are you going to throw me into another cell until dawn?" 

"You are free," Kahless answered. "Are we not already bound by a common purpose, you and I? Older than perhaps the stars themselves? Will your honor remain intact if you run and hide?" He chuckled as Richie shook his head and gestured toward the gangplank of his ship. "I even prepared for this by 'acquiring' your weapon of choice." Richie followed the gesture. He didn't know if he was more surprised by seeing Ambassador K'talok or his Toledo rapier in the ambassador's hands. 

K'talok bowed as he offered the blade to the human. "A little research indicated this was your favorite," he smirked. "It is unfortunate that your young friend put up such a struggle when I went to obtain it. Such a pitiful waste. It was a handsome dwelling." 

"What?" Richie asked. 

"There was a young man at your house, a cadet, I believe. He would not let me enter your abode. I had to kill him.... And then destroy the evidence." The ambassador added another chuckle as he moved away. Richie suddenly lunged for him, but was stopped by Kahless. 

"Tomorrow," the Klingon spat. "We will fight each other tomorrow. Leave the jubbe' alone. Is that not also your way?" 

It was true Immortals didn't drag mortals into their fights. But revenge was another matter entirely. "Just wait," Richie yelled after the departing ambassador. "You'll get yours! In spades, you bastard!" With a jerk, he freed his arm from Kahless' grasp. "Fine. I'll leave him alone -- for now." He looked around, taking in the deserted plain, the rapier once again in his hand. The blade sparkled in the light, an almost forgotten sight. It had been so long since it was last in his hand. So long since...

> **_2194 A.D. - Outside of Starbase 3, Alpha Centauri_**
> 
> _The katana clashed against his rapier, a loud sound in the quiet outdoors. "Fight, damn it," Duncan urged again, his voice unable to contain the anger. Richie did nothing besides holding the rapier out._
> 
> _"Mac..." the younger Immortal pleaded. "I can't!"_
> 
> _The Highlander sliced across Richie's chest, cutting through the gold Starfleet shirt and into the skin. Blood seeped from the cut and stained the cloth. "Giving up is not something I taught you."_
> 
> _The blond blocked the next cut, deflecting the katana. Duncan swung around and came from the other side, also blocked. Richie felt the wound on his pectoral, ancient memories mixing with the current scene. Two more attacks were parried. "I quit," Richie called, turning his back on MacLeod._
> 
> _He had barely taken a step when the katana blade sprouted from his chest, gushing blood mixing with the overwhelming agony and the younger Immortal fell to his knees. "Jamison won't let you walk away, and neither will I," the Scottish baritone whispered in his ear._
> 
> _It was bad enough that a psychotic Immortal was after Richie's head, but when Duncan decided Richie needed 'saving', it was almost too much to bear. The pair had barely spoken since their last disastrous encounter on Earth. And then MacLeod shows up out of the blue, to warn his former student about Jamison._
> 
> _The katana was jerked out of him, the bloody blade coming to rest against his neck. "You can sometimes be so pig-headed. He wants your head! Unless you defend yourself, he'll take it."_
> 
> _"Why is everyone so convinced I can't take care of myself? Why, Mac?" He had sworn, long ago, if the Highlander ever put a sword to his neck, it would be the last time. "Do you still see the frightened kid that broke into your store one dark night?" His breathing was coming in gasps as adrenaline pumped into his system. "Or a trembling young Immortal who thought he was safe with you?" That cut made the Highlander wince. "Fuck you, Duncan MacLeod. I don't put up with that shit from anybody anymore."_
> 
> _The rapier sliced through the air, knocking the katana blade away from the naked flesh as Richie stepped back. Already attacking before Duncan could recover, he managed to score a small cut along the off arm. The Highlander grunted, but managed to parry the next attack. Then they traded blows back and forth, until MacLeod misstepped on the uneven ground._
> 
> _The Scot fell heavily, but managed to roll away from Richie's downward attack. He got a kick in his side before he got away from the younger Immortal, who was already following. The Highlander resorted to a few martial arts moves, but Richie had him at a disadvantage._
> 
> _Duncan acted like he was going to say something, but he turned and kicked, driving his boot into Richie's side. With a cry, the blond used an elbow to shatter the ankle, before pushing the limb away. The Highlander hobbled back, defending with his katana. Richie pushed until Duncan was backed to a sharp rise._
> 
> _It was a race to try and keep Richie back as the ankle fully healed. Duncan took several cuts to the arms and sides while he balanced carefully to keep pressure off the broken joint. The younger Immortal slid easily into a new combination move, but an unexpected left from the Highlander's fist stopped him._
> 
> _Richie felt his jaw break, and his vision flashed red with pain. With a growl that was more animal that human, he stabbed, managing to catch Duncan in the chest. The Highlander went down, his katana landing within inches of his hand. He twisted over, reaching for his sword, but Richie pinned the hand to the ground with his foot. Duncan managed to look up with glazing eyes as the sword came down, heading for his unprotected neck..._

* * * * * * * *

The gagh was dead. And Richie had had better heart of tang from a replicator. Still, it was edible. "And that was how I defeated the last of the other jubwI' on Praxis. It was glorious."

The human remembered reading the reports of the disaster. Apparently the Quickening had ignited the energy supply on the moon, causing a chain reaction. Seventy-eight percent of the planetary body was blown into space. And the reaction wave spread for several hundred lightyears in all directions. Glorious seemed an understatement. "So did you find out what the Prize was?" 

"tev?" Kahless asked. "The only prize was to be the One. The wa'neH. As I was destined to be!" The Klingon had insisted on telling Richie every single battle he had fought since the day he had Awakened, over fifteen centuries ago. But now it was very late, and Richie only wanted to be alone. He rose to his feet. "Will you not tell me your glories, R'chIy'?" 

"Sorry," the human replied. "I think I want to be alone. Do you mind?" It only seemed fair to check with his host about that. Lord knows he didn't want to break some Klingon Immortal rule or ritual and make Kahless mad. That would be... _worse than this already is. If that's possible._

Kahless gestured around him. "As long as you meet me at dawn. And do not 'accidentally' fall into the lava. I will have a toy'wI' follow you, to wake you at the proper time." With reverence, he lifted the rapier to Richie's hands. "I look forward to our challenge tomorrow." The Klingon said it with such joy and honor, it made Richie sick. 

He quickly fled the ship, after deciding he wanted to be away from any Klingon. He didn't quite know what he wanted to do, or accomplish, but it was a relief to leave behind the strangeness of his captors. _God, this is turning into a Twilight Zone episode._ Except it was four hundred years too late.

* * *

It was later, when the lone moon barely shown through the upper atmospheric cover, that Richie found himself near the bridge. There was something comforting about the little piece of land, cut off from the rest of the world, surrounded by ever moving magma. And the view was spectacular. The faint moonlight almost sparkled from the far mountain range as it shimmered through the heat waves. _Probably something reflective in the rocks._ It made Richie think of stars, the real ones unseen from the hazy cloud cover. 

There was a cozy little nook in the rock outcropping where he could lean back and rest against it. His legs stretched out to the edge of the ground, only a few feet away. Richie sat and watched the shimmering spectacle across the world from him. Everything seemed across the world from him. 

This wasn't what he had expected. There were times he had run across a particularly accomplished Immortal. But you still gave your name, raised your sword, and wham-bam, it was over. This vigil was only making him worry about winning. _Living_ , he corrected himself. And for once, he dwelled on it. Living. _Do I really want to go on living? Should I worry about what happens after tomorrow? Would I feel better if this was it? Would I be able to finally rest?_

"So you want to give up and die?" the man's voice asked softly behind him. With a start, Richie turned. He couldn't believe his eyes. Just down the rock was Gil, an old friend from the Plymouth colony on the Moon. A person who had died in 2012 A.D. "Even when we were trapped in that cave-in, you fought to survive. Why give up now?" 

_This couldn't be happening_ , Richie thought. _He's dead._ "You're dead!" 

Gil shrugged his shoulders, a very uncharacteristic move. "We all have our crosses to bear, Dickie. When did you set down yours?" 

Richie shook his head. "So you think I'm just giving up?" Richie blushed in anger. This was so like Gil. They had argued about everything. There probably wasn't another mortal in the galaxy, past or present, who frustrated Richie so. "You know me better than that. It just may be time to move on." 

"Die," Gil countered with a grin. 

"Whatever," Richie countered. "That was several hundred years ago, Gil. Don't you think I might have changed?" The Immortal couldn't believe he was still arguing with this phantasm. "Why do I bother?" 

A discreet cough made Richie turn the other way. "Why do you bother?" Jack Crusher asked, another dead phantasm. He was wearing the black silk shirt Richie had bought him for his eighteenth birthday, which the young man had promptly gone out, got drunk, and threw up on. They always had a good laugh whenever he wore it afterwards. 

"Do you have to ask that, Jack?" Richie forced the lump in his throat away. It had been the worst night of his life in recent years, when they told him Jack had died. The commanding officer, Picard, had looked haggard during the call. "I remember when your father let me hold you, there at Starfleet Medical, the day you were born. You looked up at me, and smiled...." Jack had been such a very small baby. "I would do anything to get you to smile like that again." 

Jack beamed. "And you did. That was the best part. You didn't try to be my father, didn't try and mold me. But you were there to hold my hand, and listen to me, and sometimes yell at me when I was doing something stupid." The corners of Richie's mouth twitched at the memories. 

"You always were a handful, especially once you started at the Academy," Richie pointed out. His young ward had gotten into more trouble since...well, names failed him. "And there I was, having to be stern and disapproving...." 

"That's why I had to get into so much trouble," Jack pointed out. "I had the reputation of Red Alert Ryan to live up too. The strict, loathsome professor...." 

Richie laughed and raised his hand. "You can stop that right now, young man. Don't blame me for your lack of discretion. 

Jack came closer and laid a hand on Richie's arm. The Immortal gasped a breath at the contact. It was a familiar gesture, and one he had missed. "So, tell me, why do you bother?" Richie struggled for an answer. He shook his head, not able to express the words. "No, Rich," Jack interrupted. "Not just me. Everyone. All of us. Why do you bother? To teach for so long you become an institution. To turn back around and serve on another ship and another ship. To fight for the idea of the Federation, and peace. Why?" 

There was no cognizant answer Richie could give. "I don't know," he whispered, wishing more than anything this wasn't a dream. One more moment with Jack again, even if it was only his imagination, was almost so joyous it was painful. Especially tonight. "I'm sorry." 

A new voice sounded. "Sorry about caring? Devoting your life to an idea? Or because you don't know yourself well enough to answer?" Boothby's voice jerked Richie back around. The caretaker's face was in Richie's own. "Because you're almost four hundred, and you know yourself less than we do?" 

The Immortal was at a loss for words. "And how am I suppose to find out who I am? I've searched the known galaxy and haven't found anything like an answer!" He felt angry now. He had devoted his life to Starfleet and gotten little in return. He still was no closer to understanding himself than when he pushed a broom across a dojo floor and pretended to manage it. 

"Richie," Boothby uttered with sadness in his eyes. "Searching every planet in the quadrant won't get you any closer to the truth." The white haired man chuckled. "The truth isn't out there. Your search hasn't even begun." Before the Immortal could explode from frustration, Boothby moved to place his hand on Richie's chest. "It's in here," he simply said as palm touched cloth. 

The world shifted, and Riva stood before him. The Ramatisian smiled, as if the Immortal already had found his answer. It was getting too confusing to Richie. He felt lost and helpless. A soft, feminine whisper enveloped him completely. "But that's the way you are, my love." Her golden voice caressed his ear. The Immortal was afraid to turn, afraid to see her again with his own eyes. Afraid if she was next to him, he would never voluntarily leave. 

"Miranda," he whispered as he turned. Her dark black hair cascaded down to her shoulders as she smiled, a sunlit flash that melted Richie's heart. "I can't bear to see you again." He felt the tears falling down his cheek, but he had no will to stop them. 

"Hush," she replied as she wiped them away. "You feel the pain because you don't know how to move on. Or move back." She kissed him gently on the nose. "You never knew what you truly wanted, or why you wanted it." Her hands felt warm on his skin. "And until you do, you will never be whole." 

Richie didn't want to understand what was going on, he only wanted her to stay forever. But in the end, she left, like everyone else. "I love you," he whispered, holding her in his arms, shivering from the need and the remembered pain of her loss. 

"Shhh," she urged. "We knew what we were getting into. At least I did." She looked into his eyes and smiled. "It's not our love that haunts you, bothers you. Our life together isn't the obstruction in your way. I am an important part, but not the key." 

He was confused, and hurt. "You were all I ever needed, Mir. You made me complete." 

The pain in her eyes almost destroyed him. "You know that's not true. Don't keep hiding from the truth." There was an urgency in her eyes. "You must go back there again, or all is lost, my love." She ran her hands over his face, brushing his hair. "We will all be with you, forever, darling." 

"No," Richie begged. "I don't understand...." He stopped when he felt the new hand rest on his shoulder. Miranda vanished from his grasp and he let go a small cry of pain. "Noo." And then he turned and melted into the embrace of the person behind him. Something he wanted to do when his wife had died for real, but his anger and distance had prevented. "Noo." 

The Highlander held him for a moment, then gently released him. They stood there for a while, just contemplating each other. Richie opened his mouth, but choked on the name. He tried again. "Mac?" 

Duncan MacLeod smiled as he looked down on his friend. "Because I'm the one person you're not at peace with," he replied to the unspoken question. Richie blushed, preparing to protest. "Don't start lying to me. Not now. Not here." 

Richie felt a weight lift from his body. A tenseness that had been with him for so long he had forgotten it was there. "I won't," he promised, more to himself than to MacLeod. 

"We are so much alike," Duncan said. "We both have been alone and rejected. Yet we're hardly the same. We can't agree on anything. But that just makes the friendship more special." 

The younger Immortal could see his point. There were just too many differences to overcome. "But all we do is argue. I don't like that. We hurt each other, again and again. I almost...." He knew the tears flowed freely, but couldn't stop. "Sometimes I think the pain is so great my heart will burst. And I throw up walls...." His voice was a whisper, no louder than the breeze. "I come back, because I can't bear being alone. I think that this time it will work. But things fall apart and all I do is hurt again...." 

The Highlander gently framed Richie's face with his strong hands and raised his friend's eyes until he could look into their depths. "Our bodies heal overnight, Rich. Our hearts, they take a while longer. But building walls won't help them heal. Show me your pain." 

"I can't," Richie interjected, pulling away. He struggled briefly, too drained to break Duncan's hold. "I can't...." 

MacLeod let him go. "Then we will spend the rest of our lives in the hell we've created, Rich. We belong together, tough guy. Back to back against the world. Not fighting each other. We shouldn't be fighting each other." 

"THEN LEAVE!" Richie shouted through is tears. He stumbled to his knees, too tired to stand. "That's all you ever wanted, was to be rid of me. Now's your chance!" The walls had cracked open finally, and all he felt was the pain and the loneliness he had bottled up inside. "Go live your life. Without me. It would be safer." 

"Never," Duncan replied as he knelt, pulling him into another hug. "Sometimes, Rich, you are the most aggravating, annoying person in the universe. But I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world." MacLeod backed away enough to raise Richie's face so they made eye contact. "You're stuck with me forever, my friend." 

"I wish I could believe that," Richie sighed. "But this isn't real. You're not real. This is just a dream the night before I die." 

The Highlander graced him with a small, knowing smile. "You could always talk your way out of anything, you little thief." Duncan reached out and grabbed Richie's limp hand. The younger Immortal didn't resist as MacLeod placed it on his own chest. "This is my heart, Rich. This is my soul. Let the walls go and I will be there for you." 

The younger Immortal sadly shook his head. "It still can't be happening." 

Duncan winked at him. "You've shown me your pain, my friend. Give me the chance to show you my joy. Just give me the chance. Please." And for a brief second, despite his brain, the young Immortal believed his friend. With all his heart. That if he only showed up, Duncan would be waiting with a smile and open arms. It was a nice thought. 

"Mac," Richie began, feeling this was a perfect moment to ask something that had been bothering him for ages. He stopped, though. The old fears had never truly gone away. His doubts had hung on for centuries. 

Duncan gave him a small smile. "Go ahead, Rich," he said in a soft voice. "You can ask me. You can ask me anything. Always." 

The younger Immortal gathered his courage and took a deep breath. It was only two words, but they had haunted him forever. And overcoming the fear of centuries was not something easily done. "Mac...." The Highlander waited patiently. "Why me?" he finished in a small voice. He held his breath, terrified of the answer. 

"I remember the first time I saw you, in the shop." It was a night neither of them was likely to forget. "There you were, sword in hand. 'En guard' you said. I mistook you for an Immortal, for a lot of different reasons. And later...." Duncan seemed to be having trouble answering the question. "When I found out you weren't even eighteen...well, your face had seen too much to be eighteen. I was sad...." 

Richie jerked away. "You felt pity." 

Duncan wasn't about to let him go that easily. "I've found several pre-Immortals. And I've helped them have a normal, happy childhood. Made sure they realized whatever potential as a mortal they could. You...." Duncan looked at Richie with saddened eyes. "I was too late with you, Richie." 

"Mac...," Richie whispered. 

"I knew what I had to do. But I couldn't...." It was Duncan's turn for a deep breath. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry that I wasn't there for you." 

It felt strange to Richie, Duncan apologizing. "You came when I needed you. Gave me everything I could want or ask for. Taught me, sheltered me. Even let me go and make my own mistakes. You were there when I came running back. You have nothing to apologize. I'm the one...." His voice caught in his throat. "I'm the one who almost killed you...."

> **_2194 A.D. - Outside of Starbase 3, Alpha Centauri_**
> 
> _Richie knelt carefully in the dirt, afraid to breathe. He tried to stop his shaking hands as they gently, so gently slid the rapier from the deep cut in Duncan's neck. Somehow he had managed to turn the blade as it cut through the flesh, so it sank into the shoulder. The bone stopped it from totally slicing through. But it had been close._
> 
> _The blood-coated blade came free. The younger Immortal placed it at his side, staring at the gaping wound that he had caused. He could see the spinal cord, severed. The broken bones and blood vessels still pumping red liquid over the corpse. A head with eyes open in shock, seeing only nothing, feeling nothing._
> 
> _He held his breath, hoping beyond hope the brief flashes of energy around the body of the Highlander were not the start of a Quickening. He prayed over and over that his friend was healing, and not forever dead._
> 
> _The vision he had seen over and over, almost every time he closed his eyes, was not a warning about Adam, but a prophecy about himself. But he had been so deluded that he never considered himself to be a threat. Even after watching a Dark Quickening turn brother against brother, he had never envisioned he could harm MacLeod. Not even to save his own life. But he had been wrong. Oh so wrong._
> 
> _He stumbled to his feet somehow, afraid to be there when Duncan finally opened his eyes. Eyes that would hate. A gaze that would condemn him to eternal punishment for what he had done. The tenuous bond that had stretched and strained was finally broken, shattered beyond repair._
> 
> _Stunned, he found his rapier in his hand, still dripping red with MacLeod's blood. The urge to throw it away was overwhelming. To get rid of it, so that Duncan would be safe forever. He felt numb all over his body. His mind would only scream that he should leave, and the sight of his blade slicing into the neck, over and over. It was not finished. He would kill the Highlander if he held onto the sword. If he continued to fight. Today had just shown him he could._
> 
> _There were stares as he limped into the Starbase living quarters. Gasps of shock and confusion. His bags were packed by the time he mentally composed his resignation. He transcribed it to the computer and rented a berth on the next shuttle. Anything to get him off planet as fast as possible._
> 
> _The whispers followed him as he made good time getting to the shuttle bay. All he could see was the blood on his hands, a ghostly image that no water or soap could ever remove. And the sickening sound of a blade cutting into flesh. He made it to the ship as the airlock was closing, finally able to stop a moment and breathe. As oxygen entered his lungs, he felt the other Immortal. On impulse, he turned and looked out the airlock window._
> 
> _Duncan stood there, stunned, seeing Richie's face in the window. The look of confusion and helplessness tore apart what was left of Richie's broken heart. "I love you," he mouthed as the tears threatened, unsure if Duncan could make anything out through the meteor-pitted plexiglass. "I love you," he repeated more to himself, as the blade sliced down again and again in his mind._

There were tears in Duncan's eyes. "Have you ever thought...just once...that the visions were what gave you the power to stop from killing me?" His voice was deep and soft, with a faint tremor. "That it wasn't a warning that you would take my head, but someday, you'd need the strength not to?" A callused hand brushed the hair out of Richie's face, and he saw the hurt on MacLeod's face. "Immortal friendships are never easy. There's always that voice that says 'one day, they may kill me.' The chasm always between any Immortals."

The Highlander's voice broke, and it took a moment for him to recover. During that time, he kept a firm grip on his student, his friend. "That night, with Garrick, you told me you could never kill me. I believed you. I still do. There's no voice in my head warning me about you. That's the greatest gift you could ever give me. I just wish...I wish I could say the same. Let you know the joy of having a true friend. But I can't. I...Why did you leave? Why did you take the joy? The hope?" 

Richie found himself unable to reply. He licked his lips, tasting the salty tears that ran down his face. "I...I never wanted to leave. But I couldn't bear the thought of you dying. Not because of me." Not knowing why, he clutched at his teacher with all his strength. "I'm the one who's sorry, Mac. Sorry for ever thinking I could harm you. Sorry for making you suffer for my cowardice. I...forgive me." 

The last two words just spilled out unbidden. Even as he said them, Richie realized he had never asked the Highlander that. Always he apologized, saying how sorry he was, but he had never asked for forgiveness. Never let his friend be the one to grant absolution. And how selfish that was. 

Duncan squeezed him tighter. "There is nothing you have done, or felt, that needs my forgiveness." Richie hadn't expected to get off that easily. The Highlander let him go, and moved a hand to his cheek. A very un-Duncan move. "But there is someone you need to forgive, Rich." 

The Scot's callused hand gently turned his head to the side. There, against the rocks, was a frightened, scared boy, barely eighteen. Terrified of what he had witnessed, unsure about what was going to happen next. Afraid that the offer of a home and a job was another trick played on him. Scared of letting down his guard, and the walls, for fear of being hurt again. Never again. The elder Richie nodded his understanding, unsure of his voice. He felt Duncan's thumb brush the sudden tears off his cheek. 

The Highlander guided his gaze again in the other direction. "There's one more thing," he whispered. Richie saw Adam just standing there, waiting. "Since you feel so magnanimous...." 

The younger Immortal found his voice. "I can't," he said. Duncan's touch disappeared as Richie shook his head. "I just can't." It was hard to tell if he felt worse because he had no compassion for the man he viewed as his competition, or because he let Duncan down. "I can't," he repeated as he doubled over. Richie knew tears were falling again. His stomach was tied in knots. "Please, don't ask me to...." 

A hand brushed his shaking shoulder, lighter than the Highlander's. "Shh, Richie," Tessa urged. Her French lilt whispered in his ear. "It's not the end of the world." Richie knew he had disappointed Tessa, letting her die. And he would have moved heaven and earth for her, but this was too hard. He felt anguish that his heart was too small to embrace Adam. 

"I know I should," he replied through tears. "I don't want to. I don't want to give up that anger." 

"Hush," Tessa urged quietly. "Duncan has needs you can't fulfill. We all do." Richie kept his face buried in his hands, unable to face her. "It's not a reflection of you, or what you offer. Duncan has to have...many different things. Just like you, just like me." Her arms enfolded the crying Immortal. "I was hurt when he asked if you could move in. I wanted to be his everything. But I was wrong. You came into our lives, and made it so much better." 

Richie wished she would never leave him. He almost agreed. Anything so she would stay with him. But his voice was silent and his body still. 

"Give Adam the same chance. Maybe he's the answer to some of your needs." Tessa's artist hand gently rubbed Richie's back. "Duncan deserves you both. Don't desert him because of your jealousy." 

"No," Richie replied. It was such a short, simple word. 

Tessa sighed as she let go. "Then all is lost."

* * * * * * * *

By the time Richie raised his head from his hands, she was gone. They all were. He was alone. 


	6. Chapter 6

The _Intrepid_ lay nestled in the shadow on the lone moon surrounding the second planet from the star. Not only were there several ion trails leading toward the planet, one of which they had been following from the border, but the trigemic vapors in the upper atmosphere kept sensors from scanning the surface. Perfect to hide out on. 

It had taken Methos a while to convince Captain Lorrict that a shuttle used for reconnaissance would be best. He had failed to mention the irresistible feeling that an Immortal of great power was on the surface. He could sense it. It made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand. And most likely, Richie was down there as well. If he wasn't being spoken to, he would have shaken his head in frustration. 

"I still don't like the idea of you piloting a shuttle down there, alone." Pretar was on the verge of exploding. The Immortal could tell. "Even though you've had SI training, and are the best we have, I'm still not comfortable with this." 

Methos casually shrugged. "We could wait around for a while to see if a window opens up in the cloud cover, hope it lasts long enough for a sensor scan to spot a single human on the planet and beam him out." That could take hours in his estimation. "And anything could happen while we wait. Richie could lose his head, an arm, get thrown in a vat of acid...." 

"You didn't by any chance watch the Perils of Pauline, or anything?" Pretar inquired. "Fine. Do this your way. We'll play cavalry. How will we know if you need rescuing? The communicators won't work."

"I'll give you a signal." Pretar looked ready to argue. "I don't know," Methos replied to the unspoken question. "I'll think of something." The Betazoid eyed him again. "Trust me."

Pretar snorted. "Famous last words. All right. Lorrict to Shuttlebay Two. Ready a shuttle for Mr. Pierson." 

***Aye, sir***

Methos stood as Pretar did the same. The Betazoid held out his hand. "Good luck, Adam. Bring both yourselves back in one piece." 

The Immortal smiled. "I always do."

> **_1463 B.C. - Gaza, Egypt_**
> 
> _It was hot. The stifling breeze caused by the recklessly driven chariot threw up dust that clotted Methos' throat. Two days or constant riding, the unconscious body of his friend at his feet, bouncing against his bare skin each time the chariot lurched. The Immortal could no longer yell commands at the tired horse, just grunt and whip the reins as they drove over the arid land._
> 
> _He was almost at his destination, the house of his captain, almost dead in the floor of the chariot. By the gods, he wanted to rest. But he had a duty to perform, a task yet unfulfilled. And he was loathed to give up so close to the finish, even though all he wanted to do was lay down and die. But so many were already dead._
> 
> _There, just ahead. The rugged rock jutting from the sand that always brought a smile to his lips, the landmark that signified he was almost at the place they insisted he call home as well. There he could rest. Just a little bit farther._
> 
> _The servants rushed out as Methos stopped in the middle of the road, gently lifting the unconscious Ephranis out of the dirty chariot. One man calmed the horse, running a hand over the heaving flank of the roan. Another slave approached the Immortal with a jug of water, letting him drink his fill. Having his thirst finally slacked helped him regain his voice. And he would need it. The Captain's wife approached, and she would probably expect a full report. Not much her husband did escaped her touch._
> 
> _"What happened?" she asked coldly, giving Ephranis' limp form a quick glance._
> 
> _Methos stumbled out of the chariot to the ground, glad his feet were on stationary rock. "It was a massacre...."_
> 
> _"How did a meager bunch of slaves manage to decimate Pharaoh's...."_
> 
> _Her words faltered as Methos laughed, long and hard. His joviality was not appreciated. "Slaves? They did nothing. Only somehow managed to make a strip of dry land appear magically across the sea so they could cross on foot." The Immortal frowned when the woman did not look convinced. "Do not scoff. I watched the walls of water come crashing down on us as we gave chase. It was worse than another plague. So many dead...."_
> 
> _"You survived...as did my husband."_
> 
> _Methos looked her in the eye. "I was favored by the gods, and suffered me to save the Captain as well. We made it to shore, somehow, and I salvaged this chariot. Not many others were as lucky."_
> 
> _The woman absently fingered his lieutenant's torque around his neck. "You always look out for him, Methos." Her voice dropped to a whisper, now that they were alone on the road. "And me," she added, her painted lips brushing his._
> 
> _"I always do...."_

Methos stepped into the turbolift, surprised when Danny Bird was also in the car. "Shuttlebay," he told the computer as the doors shut. He eyed the ensign. "Coincidence?" he asked, already guessing the answer.

"You need backup," the young man simply stated. 

The Immortal took it in stride. "One, you do everything exactly as I tell you, when I tell you. Two, you stay out of the way. Three, he who hesitates is lost. Got it?" At this point and time, Methos didn't feel like tiptoeing around. 

"Yes, sir," Danny replied, with no hint of sarcasm.

* * *

The Klingon servant found Richie the next morning deep in concentration. The Immortal moved through his special kata, melding mind and body into a single unit. The walls had finally been cracked. All the emotions buried inside steadied him, not overwhelmed him. The forms flowed together without hesitation. Duncan would have been proud.

* * * * * * * *

"Is it always like that?" Richie asked.

Kahless understood. The Klingon didn't seem surprised the Vigil had affected the human. "Sometimes better. Sometimes worse. It all rests on the ghost one must appease before facing death. Are you ready?"

They were alone on the plateau, surrounded by three silent ships. The Klingon had a bat'telh in hand. Richie had no weapon. The human easily settled into a defensive stance, hands upraised. "Yes." 

"No weapon?" Kahless inquired. His head quirked to the side as he examined the human Immortal. "You will behead me with your bare hands?" 

Richie smiled as he bounced on his feet. He also quickly jabbed out with his hands to keep limber, like Charlie had taught him. "Something like that." 

A grin broke out on Kahless' face. It appeared he respected even foolish bravery. "It is a good day to die," he announced as he brought his weapon up. 

"I wouldn't know," Richie replied. Ever since he awoke this morning, from whatever he experienced the night before, he had known he would not break his vow. He would not raise his sword against Kahless -- or any other Immortal. He would win this without it. 

Richie was far from defenseless. His mind seemed to race at a hundred miles per second, his awareness sharp enough for the most microscopic event. Each move he made felt almost too slow, too languid. He was not going to die. 

Kahless howled during his first attack. It was pathetically slow. Richie easily danced to the side, watching the Klingon pass by him, a blurry after image following. Another growl, another attack. This only took a head duck to evade. The third strike was a head slice from the side. Richie avoided it and used the back of his arm to force the bat'telh into a follow through, putting Kahless way out of position. With effort, Richie kicked out at the exposed side, but his feet moved to slow. The Klingon was able to bring his arm back and block. 

Apparently Richie was moving as slow as Kahless, but his awareness was still hyperactive. The human saw the upper slice in plenty of time to roll out of the way. Then Kahless was after him, ramming the bat'telh down at him. Three more turns, and three more stabs, then Richie managed to catch the Klingon with a kick finally. His opponent flew backwards through the air very slowly. 

Richie quickly stood, dropping back to a defensive position. "You are very...are very good...good," Kahless said, his words slurring like a bad Japanese movie. The Klingon charged him, waving his bat'telh in front of him like a scythe. The human repeatedly jumped back to avoid the sharp blade. On the fourth swing, he let the sword bite into his side, using his arm to trap it while punching out with his free hand. Kahless turned his head and the human's palm rammed into the Klingon's cheek. Kahless brought a knee up while Richie was distracted, and used the momentary pain to push the human back and free the blade. 

The sharp slice into his side began to burn, answered by another ache in his head, at the base of the neck. Richie could feel the blood flowing down his side, staining the coverall. He turned to place that side in back to protect it while it healed. 

Kahless came at him again. Another side swing that Richie ducked, grabbing the Klingon's weapon wrist as it passed over him. A quick twist, and the Klingon was forced to pivot on around, until Richie had the arm trapped behind the Klingon's back. Since it was the hand that held the weapon, that was neutralized as well. Kahless gave the bat'telh a little toss and caught it with his other hand, jerking the weapon over his head and driving the handle grips into Richie's head. 

That made the human's brain throb with pain. He let go of the Klingon and fell on his rump. Somewhat stunned that he had been unable to avoid the blow, he was still able to kick out with both feet and planted them on Kahless' butt. With a shove, the opponents parted far enough to regroup and recover somewhat. 

"Very good," Kahless laughed. Richie noticed that even as his head hurt more, time seemed to speed up. Things were almost running at normal speed. The Klingon took a quick swipe, just to get Richie to jump. That brought another chuckle. "Dance for me, Human?" 

Angry now, Richie sprang forward with a simple, straight out roundhouse. It connected with the Klingon's chin and sent his head spinning. Everything jumped back into slow motion and sharp clarity. Pink blood mixed with spittle flew out of the Kahless' mouth. Richie came back with a left hook that also connected. And surprisingly, so did an uppercut. 

This time, Richie was on the receiving end of a headbutt. The pointed ridges drove into the human's cranium, causing more agony. Richie's hand flew absently to rub his forehead. He never saw the attack, but he dove to the side anyway. His head was on fire. He knew he was on the ground, he could feel the dirt under his hands. Blood poured into his eyes, blinding him. A boot kicked him in the stomach and sent him off the ground. Everything hurt even worse when he landed a second later. Another kick, another laugh. The cut on his side had opened again. Everywhere was blood. 

He couldn't see. Instead, he felt. No, he knew the Klingon's fist would be here and now, enough that he was prepared to grab it, and jerk Kahless forward. As his opponent stumbled by him, there was time to drive his fist into the Klingon's gut. A grunt was his reward and then he lost contact with the Klingon. 

Quietly the two circled. It was still difficult for Richie to see, and worse that his head was about to explode. He heard the whistling of the bat'telh blade slicing the air. Instinctively, he ducked to the right. The weapon sailed passed him. It was the same on the return stroke. Richie almost started laughing, but his head hurt too much. So much he could barely concentrate. So much he hardly recognized the new sensation of another Immortal nearby. 

A large hand grasped him by the throat. The strength of fifteen hundred years lifted him off the ground. Richie couldn't see Kahless' gloating face, nor the bat'telh being reared back for the decapitating blow. He still knew both were happening somehow, through the blinding pain. He couldn't breathe. It didn't matter really. Nothing really mattered any more. 

"I thought you might have been a challenge, Human," Kahless added, squeezing Richie's throat tighter and crushing the windpipe. "We'll see if whoever has come to help you is any better." With a growl, the Klingon prepared to strike.

* * * * * * * *

"Shit," Methos cursed at the scene he saw in the binoculars. The word drew a confused look from Ensign Bird. The Immortal knew there was trouble when he heard the sounds of fighting as they crested this last outcropping of rock. Big trouble when he saw Richie going up against a Klingon. Horrible trouble when that Klingon had Richie by the throat and was prepared for the final blow. Deep shit.

Unfortunately, Danny saw the scene as well, and while unable to interpret the hidden meanings, knew what was obviously going on. The young man quickly drew his phaser and aimed. 

The Immortal placed a hand over the weapon. "Stop," he ordered. Danny jerked the phaser away and turned to argue. But something in Methos' face reminded the ensign of the earlier conditions. "We can't interfere," he added, knowing Danny wouldn't be able to understand what was going on. Methos wondered if he did himself.

* * * * * * * *

Time slowed down another notch. The bat'telh slid forward, aimed at Richie's unprotected neck. Kahless' growl made him sound on drugs. There was plenty of seconds for the human to reach out and grasp the d'k tang dagger in the Klingon's belt. It was easy to slowly plunge it into the unprotected stomach before the bat'telh blade came too close. The sudden pain in the gut made Kahless release Richie, enough so the human could duck under the still moving blade. With a kick to the Klingon's front, Kahless fell backward, Richie watching/feeling/knowing his opponent was falling. No effort was needed to keep the bat'telh in motion, now that the human was unhindered. A chop to the Klingon's elbow made the joint unlock, pivoting the arm in a different trajectory. One that would intersect where Kahless' neck would be in two seconds. The Klingon bounced off the ground, his head flying slowly up as the blade made contact. And easily sliced through the skin, bone, cartilage, and both spinal columns.

Richie stood in shock, unaware what had just occurred, played out in slow motion on the movie screen in his mind. He still couldn't breathe. His brain felt five times larger than normal; his skull a shrunken nut shell ready to crack. Kahless' head bounced slowly along the ground, spitting up small clouds of dust as it hit. Each thud was deafening to Richie, who wanted so badly to cover his ears. He stumbled mindlessly in a circle. One step to one bounce of his opponent's head. It was over. 

Before he could feel any emotion, the head rolled to a stop. A deathly silence descended, as if even gods had paused to watch. Richie couldn't see with all the blood on his face. He was too tired to howl a warning that his opponent was joining the other Immortals in Hell, or Sto-Vo-Kor, or wherever. He just wanted it to be over. But as the first thread of energy sparkled toward him, still taking forever to cross the distance, he knew it had only begun.

* * * * * * * *

"Danny," Methos called as he pulled the ensign behind the rock cover. "Listen to me, and listen well. When I give the signal, we're going out there. Grab Richie's body while I cover you. We need to get back to the shuttle as quickly as possible." The young man nodded solemnly. "And forget what you're about to see."

* * * * * * * *

It began the same. Energy caroused between victor and vanquished. Richie had never enjoyed a Quickening, there was too much going on and frankly, it scared him. His body jerked as the electrical discharges found a new home, each one causing its own brand of suffering. His throat was still too damaged to scream. He writhed in silence as his form danced like a puppet.

He fell to his knees when the pain dwarfed his pounding skull, but the energy yanked him back up. He tried to go limp, anything to find rest. The Quickening was relentless. Richie's eyes felt on fire, ready to burst out of his sockets. Tears poured down his cheeks as the convulsions became stronger. 

The energy was pure white, coursing around the plateau in all directions. On some level, the Immortal registered the frightened Klingons stumbling out of the ships, staring at the fireworks display. But his world was swiftly being reduced to blinding white torment. 

If any part of his mind retained sanity, it would have been startled as his feet were lifted off the ground. The powerful bolt of energy rammed his battered body and tore the coverall. His arms were flung wide as he helplessly twisted for unseen masters. There was too much going on to even plead for rest. 

White energy sped toward Adam, twirling around the Immortal as if to examine him. Richie recognized him on an animal level, the anger adding a new fire in his belly. He finally shouted in pain as his throat healed enough for sound, then another energy bolt shot down his mouth, filling his guts with power. 

All around the storm, the Klingons watched in amazement. No one moved closer to the epicenter. They saw Richie's torn body lifted higher as each discharge wracked him. The white tendrils were everywhere, stretching even to the upper cloud layer. A storm more powerful than any being had ever seen. And Richie was at its center.

* * * * * * * *

"What the hell is that?" Sam Lavelle suddenly asked from the conn. Everyone on the _Intrepid_ bridge turned and looked at the viewscreen. There, in the murky cloud cover, a thunderstorm had broken out. It was centralized, a swirl of white lightning revolving in a perfect circle. "Is that the signal?" he asked incredulously.

"It's some sort of electromagnetic disturbance," the Bajoran ensign pointed out from Ops. "I'm reading a massive energy surge. No known cause. Our sensors can't penetrate the cloud cover." 

"A Quickening," Pretar corrected under his breath. And that made him very, very worried. "Helm," he shouted. "Prepare for atmospheric travel. Ensign Bird to the Bridge. Ensign Sito, red alert." The lights on the bridge darkened as the red lights flashed. Everyone became surprisingly busy. "Bridge to Engineering. We're going to try to enter the atmosphere. Let me know when you're ready." 

***Roger, Bridge. Engineering out.***

"Mr. Lavelle," Pretar continued, "augment thrusters and strengthen the Structural Integrity Fields for the hull and warp nacelles." The Betazoid punched another button on his console, activating a private channel. "Transporter Room. Prepare to lock onto any Starfleet combadges and any humans with them at a moment's notice." Without waiting for an answer, he punched the line closed. 

***Bridge, we are go for atmospheric flight.***

"Take us in, Mr. Lavelle," Pretar ordered. He just hoped he was in time. Silently, the large ship slid out of the small moon's shadow, and sped toward the swirling mass of clouds in the planet's atmosphere below.

* * * * * * * *

Richie wasn't sure who, or what he was. Every time he took a breath, another discharge rammed into him. He knew he was floating helplessly above the ground. And all around him were tendrils of the Quickening, playing tag with his puny body. He didn't think there were any bones connected to each other, and nerves that weren't screaming from overload.

His mind was filled with words, ideas, actions and intents. He imagined he could sense what Laura Benteen was doing on Earth right at this moment. That Adam and Danny were cowering behind those rocks. That K'talok was slowly advancing and reaching out a hand. 

The white lightning bit, scorching the ambassador's fingers. Richie would have laughed if he didn't feel so much pain/pleasure. Another large tendril circled his chest, making itself at home like a coiled serpent. He was past the point of caring. Now all he wanted was for it to end.

* * * * * * * *

Methos felt the first stirrings of abatement from the maelstrom that surrounded Richie. With a pat on the shoulder, he alerted Danny. It was still too noisy to talk, but a head jerk in the general direction was enough. Ensign Bird nodded and slowly crept with the Immortal to the edge of the outcropping. Once Methos saw the gathered crowd, he pulled Danny back. "We won't have much time. Don't waste any." Danny nodded and they prepared to run.

* * * * * * * *

The _Intrepid_ bucked as it hit the atmosphere. The artificial gravity couldn't compensate quickly enough, so the crew was jostled at their posts. It was almost like the ship was fighting the course. "Hold her steady," Pretar called out unnecessarily. Still, it made him feel marginally better.

Ensign Sito yelped as one of her wall panels exploded. She moved back to her displays once it was over. "There's a plasma fire in the main conduit," she called out over the bridge noise. "Attempting to purge." 

Another wild bucking almost threw Pretar from the Captain's seat. He held on, knowing the fate of his ship was in the hands of her crew. And hoped all the design work paid off. "Or we're gonna be toast in the dirt," he added under his breath.

* * * * * * * *

Fading out with a few small explosions of energy, the Quickening ended. Methos and Danny were already running toward the center as Richie's body fell to the ground. He landed so hard anything not already broken was snapped in two. The battered Immortal just lay there in the dust. Methos angled toward the ships as he opened fire. The assembled Klingons were too stunned to act for the moment. _Lucky us_ , the Immortal wryly thought.

It took less than a minute for Danny to hoist the unconscious Richie into a fireman's carry. Methos shot randomly as he eyed the reinforcements streaming from the ships. Those already outside awoke from their stupor and pulled weapons themselves. "Run!" Methos shouted as he stepped up his shots. 

A quick glance back the way they had come revealed a squad of guards blocking their retreat. And the front lines were cautiously advancing. With a battle like this in the open, he who fires most keeps his head. He tried to spot Danny peripherally and found the ensign struggling toward a bridge that led to a small outcropping of rock. Good a place as any for a final stand. 

The Immortal kept firing, trying to give as much time to the ensign as possible. But time ran out as the power cell failed, leaving Methos pushing a useless button. He threw the weapon away and stared at his enemies. Surprised at the situation, they stared back. 

Like a frightened rabbit, Methos jerked around and began running as fast as his feet would carry him. He was not fearful; that emotion he had outlived millennia ago. He was somewhat worried about his continued existence as he felt the assembled host start after him. 

It took a second for them to start firing. The Immortal weaved right and left, making a more difficult target to hit. It was almost like a deadly game of tag. He poured more energy into his legs and deepened his strides. The race was on....

> **_490 B.C. -- Greece, Earth_**
> 
> _Methos could barely breathe anymore. All he had done was run. All morning. But the news was too important to stop for any reason. He chuckled giddily. He might even die momentarily and keep on running. He had abandoned his sandals earlier and ran on bare feet. The leather had torn soon after he left for Athens._
> 
> _He felt his leg muscles protest the treatment, but still he refused to stop. His dark brown curls were matted against his head. Both lungs ached, each gasp for a quick breath caused agony in his chest. But he could not stop._
> 
> _Because of his Immortality, he was in top form. It was almost required for every man in Greece to be a warrior, and athletically inclined. The battles fought between Immortals were the stuff legends were made of. Sports were revered here, and it was easy to remain active. Methos tended to run, but he was also accomplished at wrestling, where his lithe form and determination gave him an edge. That's why he was chosen to be the bearer of the news. Once he got to Athens, he would be a hero._
> 
> _That appealed to him. It seemed every five hundred years or so he felt like doing something that made him special. All that praise. It wasn't enough to kill a hundred Immortals in a year. That brought no fame. Telling the world that Greece had beaten the Persians would make him as close to a god as he dared aspire. This century. One day the world may delve back into the darkness, and Methos could play savior again to the frightened, huddle masses._
> 
> _His heart pounded in his chest as he recognized the valley he was passing through. A house by the road looked familiar as well. Almost there. He could taste the feast already. Chapped lips were moistened with the last of his saliva. Ragged breaths escaped his open mouth. Almost. With the last of his strength, he picked up his sprint. A small part of his mind recognized he would be dead by the time he reached the city gates. He would have to leave and move on after that. But they would remember his name. At least the one he was using now. That was enough, this time. And what a way to leave._

Methos judged the distance to the bridge. Twenty meters. Danny had made it across with Richie and was laying him down behind the rocks. That meant he would be able to return fire any second now. That was good. Disruptor shots dogged his feet, but no shot hit dead on. He knew he would have to hit the bridge at a dead run, and prayed it would hold up. The Immortal almost cried out as a stray blast hit one of the rope rails, severing it. The other could not hold the load. It snapped from the weight, leaving no way to cross to safety. _I'm screwed,_ Methos mentally cursed.

There was no time to stop. No time to turn back. His speed had already committed him to his course. And that course was straight down into the boiling lava. _Lovely._ Without thinking, he poured the last of his energy into his stride. It was easy to count the steps remaining toward the edge. On the last one, he closed his eyes and jumped....

> **_1600 B.C. -- Island of Crete, Earth_**
> 
> _He looked down, marveling at the rolling seas below his feet. The salty Mediterranean air blew across his happy face. He was amazed at the feeling, the giddy delight of flight. The two contraptions on his arms that Icarus had smuggled from his father's workroom were amazing. It took a bit to learn how to control them, how to guide yourself along._
> 
> _The Immortal's arms grew tired as he glided along. It was hard work fighting the wind. But the rewards were well worth it. One eye on the beach nearby left the other to watch his friend, Icarus, laughing as the young mortal swooped and dived, chasing the gulls. Apparently, his father had allowed him to do this before, but he wanted to share the joy with a friend this time. Methos didn't have the heart to chastise the young man. Besides, this was a remarkable experience._
> 
> _Out of breath, Methos angled for the expanse of sand. He aimed for the rolling surf, close enough to shore so not to drown. Or get pulled out to sea by the large wings on his arms. Once he was down, the Immortal decided landing was the worst part. There would have to be a better way to get down if this was going to work._
> 
> _He looked out to sea, watching Icarus swoop and dive. That one had the upper body strength to pull it off. Methos was a leg man. He waved when he thought Icarus could see him, and sure enough the human bird glided nearer. "Why did you stop?" the mortal shouted._
> 
> _"I'm tired," Methos shouted back, afraid he wasn't going to be heard over the surf. "I'm also hungry. Come down and let's find some fruit." Icarus just laughed and circled farther out to sea._
> 
> _"I'm not coming down," he yelled back. "I'm going to fly up and touch the sun." The graceful form of the young man began beating the artificial wings, rising higher and higher into the sky._
> 
> _Methos cupped his eyes with his hands. "Come back," he shouted futilely. Icarus soon became a dot, blotted out by the sun. Methos wondered if he would touch Apollo's chariot. And would the god take him to Olympus for dinner. Suddenly the Immortal felt left behind. "Icarus," he shouted, hoping to catch his friend's attention._
> 
> _The reply started softly, but soon increased into a steady yell. Methos watched as the object dived below the sun, a dark form against the light sky. But the dive continued, and the Immortal watched the body plummet into the sea. "Nooo," he shouted, diving into the surf. His swam as far as his tired arms could carry him, but only found one of the wings, torn into debris. That was all he found._

Methos knew he was falling. With his eyes closed, he hoped not to witness his demise. But his fingers stretched another impossible inch, and he grasped the edge of the far precipice. His heart almost jumped out of his chest. He dug his fingernails into the ground and tried to mold himself into the cliff wall. He felt so relieved he almost shouted. Then the lip gave way and he was falling....

* * * * * * * *

"We're free of the cloud cover," Sam announced to the bridge. The viewscreen cleared and everyone saw the acrid, dry landscape. Turbulence still rocked the ship and caused all sorts of problems, but at least they were no longer flying blind.

Pretar hung on to his chair's armrests. "Scan for lifesigns," he called out to Ensign Sito. When Security had found the note Danny had left, explaining about his absence, the Betazoid just about spit. One of the relief crew manned the Tactical station. 

"Twenty klicks, bearing 145," Sito yelled out over the din. Ensign Lavelle adjusted course without an order. The landscape swerved to the right, making the captain's stomach queasy. This was certainly going down in his personal annuals as the worst little jaunt of his life. 

He risked letting go of the chair to open a channel to the transporter room. "Twenty and closing, Gehbor. You only get one shot. Make it good." The reply was drowned out as the whine increased on the bridge. "If we last that long," he added. It was too noisy for anyone else to hear.

* * * * * * * *

Methos closed his eyes, ready for the plunge into the magma. His heart skipped a beat as a hand roughly clasped his wrist. Quickly, the Immortal thrust out his other hand, making contact. He opened his eyes and looked down. The sight of the superheated lava was terrifying. He looked up, grateful for Danny's timely rescue. And stared into the baby blues of Richie Ryan.

He was so shocked he almost let go. But there was no humor, no sadistic glee in the young Immortal's face. Just dogged determination. With a grimace of pain. "Thanks," he gasped, unable to quiet the chuckle that slipped through. Richie's face broke out into a sweat as they struggled to keep hold of each other. Then suddenly, disruptor fire broke out around him. Small pieces of dirt were dislodged as the shots riddled the cliff wall. 

One managed to strike just below a knee. Methos yelped in pain. The unmistakable whine of a phaser sounded as it returned fire. That gave him a brief respite. He focused on Richie again. The other Immortal struggled to lift him up. But it looked impossible. 

Each time there was progress, Richie slipped a little bit further over the edge. Methos tried to help by using his feet to find a purchase, but only succeeded in dislodging more dirt. Fumes surrounded them, making it harder to breathe. And Richie was strained to his limit. 

An unlucky shot struck Methos in the shoulder, causing a surge of pain on that side of his body. His hand faltered, and he found himself swinging by one arm. Richie grunted at the added stress. The young Immortal's face was screwed in determination, but the best laid plans could still fail.

Somewhere above, another shot sounded, followed by the unmistakable scream of the ensign. More disruptor fire dotted the cliff wall, a few shots striking Methos. Every part of his body was in agony. He was tired. He hurt. One last look into Richie's eyes, and the millennia old man made the instant, irrevocable decision. He let go.

* * * * * * * *

***Trying to get a lock, Bridge. Three humans. They're being fired on....***

"Sensors are reading three ships: two warbirds and a freighter," Ensign Sito called out. "Targeting scanners are unable to lock onto...."

Pretar didn't wait for either to finish. "Screw the lock--fire phasers!" The new ensign at Tactical struggled to follow the orders, but it still took valuable time for him to respond. Lorrict's lungs felt they would burst before the familiar rattle of the phaser banks sounded. A single orange beam shot ahead of their erratic course, striking the ground the ship was aimed for. _Please let us be fast enough_ , Pretar begged.

* * * * * * * *

Richie felt Adam's remaining hand slip away. His sweaty palm grasped at empty air. The other Immortal was gone. He was ashamed of the wave of satisfaction that shot through his body. But it wasn't as uplifting as he had imagined. His problems with Duncan weren't magically swept away. Nothing had changed.

He had felt that way for the first eighteen years of his life. All the hopes and dreams the foster parents, the social workers had promised him. "This time will be different," they had said. But still things failed, and he was left flailing his arms out, crying for someone to catch him. No one did. 

Until one dark night, and his grasping hands found a pair of strong arms that held on. And raised him up to stable ground. That's when his life had truly started. He remembered the panic before and prayed he never felt that way again.. 

But one person did feel that way--here and now. And Richie could not stand by. Just like in the past when Duncan could not stand by. There was no hesitation as Richie scrambled forward, leaning his body over the edge. His hand flew out and gripped the slender wrist that was still upraised. Richie experienced the surprise and shock Adam felt when he looked up into the unwavering, unflinching eyes. 

"Because I can do no less," Richie added, mainly to himself. His grip was solid. A hand that had grasped a sword for four hundred years, trained to never let go of his lifeline, now encircled another kind of lifeline. There was no longer any room for hate, or jealousy. An amazing thing happened as he purged the bad and unproductive emotions he had harbored for Adam. Somewhere deep inside there was a place in his heart, to step aside and let go of his exclusive claim on the Highlander's friendship.

Richie knew there were no regrets in his eyes. No hesitation or remorse. There was no chance he would ever let go again. This was not something he would decide was wrong at a later date. There was no going back, only forward. And strangely enough, it all was reflected in Adam's brown eyes.

The extra weight dragged Richie's body closer over the edge. He tried to dig his feet into the ground, anything to stop his movement. He had gone too far, though, and there was no way to stop the inevitable pull over the cliff. They would go down together. Die in the lava together. That was one thing Richie was sure of. He felt himself being hauled closer.

But like all happy endings, the transporter got to them first.

* * *

"Beam Mr. Bird to Sickbay," Methos ordered once he got the younger Immortal off the transporter pad. Danny was still crumpled in a heap and needed immediate medical attention. Richie had said nothing. It was easy to walk him toward the door and out into the corridor. Methos had a brief quandary about what to do until Richie coughed out "bridge!" Not one to argue during an emergency, the older Immortal moved them toward the nearest turbo lift. 

"Who's in command?" Richie asked, his voice still shaky. The words hissed through clenched teeth as the Immortals hobbled along. 

Methos felt a twinge of surprise. _Surely Richie knew._ "Captain Lorrict...." 

The other Immortal stopped suddenly, almost wrenching Methos' arm off. "Oh, God," Richie breathed, his voice rising. Methos managed to lower the younger man to the deck as his legs gave out. "He's still alive...." 

It was pure habit that made Methos wrap his arms around the crying pilot, offer comfort to a man he barely knew. The tears, of joy he hoped, soaked his shirt. "Yes, Pretar's alive, and well. And waiting for you on the Bridge." 

The one word made Richie stop instantly. "I've got to get to the Bridge," he said, only a trace of emotion in his voice. Using Methos as a brace, he managed to make it to his feet, and the pair moved off to the nearest turbolift. "We're not out of the woods yet, Adam."

By the time they had reached the bridge, Richie was mostly himself. "Out of my chair," the Immortal spat when he saw Ensign Lavelle at the conn. Sam jumped up with a start, staring as Richie slid into the pilot's seat. It wasn't hard to looked shocked. The _Intrepid's_ First Officer was a mess. Blood, cuts, dirt all marked him and his clothing. His face was screwed into a horrible scowl as he swiftly altered course and began the assent. 

Sam looked around helplessly until the Captain suggested he take over the Engineering console on the bridge. "Alert Engineering we'll need best speed once we climb out of the atmosphere," Pretar added. He sat in the Captain's chair, gesturing for Methos to take the seat beside him. Then another tense ten minutes occurred as the ship shook and rattled its way out of the clouds. Methos was glad he missed the ride in. 

Suddenly, they were free of the atmosphere. Richie rolled the ship and headed her toward Federation space before Pretar could get a word out. The _Intrepid_ shot to Warp 9 in a flash. "All three ships are lifting off," the pilot said cryptically. "Only two will follow; the Birds-of-Prey." 

"Confirmed," Sito called out from Ops. "Two Klingon ships have just left orbit and are following us." A quick check and she added more information. "Their top speed is around Warp 8.2. We're out running them." 

Pretar visibly relaxed at that news. "Good. Mr. Pierson, well done." Methos interpreted the amused look in the Captain's eye as a desire to read the 'official' report. It was unspoken that an informal briefing would be held as soon as possible. "Your first reward is time out to take a shower. Then come back and relieve me. And try to find a uniform, this time." The tone of his voice brooked no argument. And he got none. Methos found a perverse sense of irony at being included in the crew. 

_Well, it has been a long time since I did pull a stint. This might be fun._ "Aye, aye, Captain," the Immortal replied with a twinkle in his eye. That caused Pretar to raise one of his eyebrows in return. _I like this guy._

"Mr. Ryan," Captain Lorrict continued as he stood. "Be so kind as to turn your station over to Mr. Lavelle and report to Sickbay for a detailed examination." Methos stayed in his seat, expecting some interesting reaction. After the fireworks down on the planet, this should be a doozy. 

Mentally, the ancient Immortal ran through all the excuses he could come up with while Richie turned around in his seat. _I'm an Immortal; I'm fine. Not tonight, I have a headache. What, and let that imbecile drive the Porsche?_ He minutely shook his head. _No, not sarcastic enough for the Richmeister._

"Yes, sir," Richie curtly replied, as if he had no more energy to fight. It took a bit for the Immortal to stand. It was a weary person who stepped aside and let the young ensign take the conn. And the weariness continued as Richie headed toward the side steps to the turbolift. 

Richie stopped, halfway to the stairs, and turned to Pretar. He shuffled over to the command chairs, and wrapped his arms around the Captain, pulling the Betazoid tightly against him. The strain made his bare forearms stand out as the two stood there, trapped in a hug, for what seemed an eternity.

They had no need to share words, the communication of eyes, and face, and emotions were enough. "Sickbay," the Captain reminded his First Officer, gently disentangling his arms. "And then rest. I'll call you if you're needed." The younger Immortal nodded and slowly walked to the turbolift. 

Pretar kept an eye on his friend while he gently got Methos' attention. "Go with him," the Betazoid mouthed silently. Methos nodded and stood, reaching out for a quick grasp of the Captain's shoulder. That gesture surprised him. He hadn't felt so compassionate in a long time. Then again, it had been awhile since he was hanging off the side of a cliff as well. A firm nod and Methos turned to his newest assignment. 

"Wait up, Rich," he called as he ran after the pilot. The turbolift doors remained open until both Immortals were in the lift. "So," Methos began as the doors whooshed shut. "Who was that guy?" He tried to use a casual tone of voice. It was easy. After five thousand years, everything was easy. Except trust.

* * *

Three hours later, the _Intrepid_ was halfway to the border. Pretar had waited until Richie left Sickbay before strolling down there for a pow-wow with Dr. Simmons. Adam had long since returned to the bridge, decked out in a black and maroon jumpsuit with full Commander's pips. And carrying himself like a very confidant officer. 

"So, Jarvis," Pretar said as he pulled up a chair in the medical office. "What's the verdict?" 

The doctor pointed out the window at the sleeping form on the bed. "Mr. Bird has had a traumatic experience, but nothing that won't heal. Only minor tissue and muscle damage, mostly from Klingon disruptors. He'll be fine, but sore. And he's decided to keep a rather small scar on his shoulder as a souvenir." 

"For the ladies and gents," Pretar happily replied with a knowing smile. "I'm glad that's all the scars he's taking with him." Some things do work out. "And our ever surprising First Officer?"

Dr. Simmons made sure Julia was out of earshot before continuing. "Well, physically, he's as healthy as a horse. Most of the main damage had healed by the time he got down here. There still a few long-term problems that should sort themselves out in a few days, given his rate of healing."

Pretar nodded. He had expected something like that. "So what are you not telling me?" 

The doctor wheeled the desk viewscreen around for the Captain to look at. "Based on his regrowth, we can theorize a little of what went on." A display lighted with a human form; Richie's. Having graduated Starfleet Medical, the Captain had a good idea what the readings meant, but he waited for the doctor to fill in the details. "He was certainly beaten, tortured and brutalized. See the bone growth lines here, and here?"

"Uh, huh," Pretar replied. He focused on a side panel. "Looks like he's also malnourished and physically exhausted." The Captain pointed out several enzyme readings. "He's also had severe neurological trauma in this area." 

Jarvis sat back. "I cross referenced that with our medical databanks. Similar readings have been detected after a Klingon Rite of Ascension."

Pretar was stunned. "Painsticks?" he asked. The doctor nodded a confirmation. "Jeeze." If the Immortal wasn't telling them about painsticks, what else could he be holding back? "How was his emotional state?" 

"I'll let you be the judge of that," Simmons replied. "But on the surface, he's not controlling anything, although he want's you to believe that's what he's doing. He's clamped a lid on it and the pressure's building." 

That was worse than the physical reports. "He's a pressure cooker. If he doesn't do something about it soon...." 

"BOOM," Jarvis finished, adding hand motions. "That's why I was wondering if you would talk to him. Get him to express some of his feelings. You know him better that anyone else on the ship, plus your background in counseling. He's in the mess hall. I just checked."

The Betazoid shook his head. "He's projecting like a fireball. I noticed that when he stepped onto the bridge. I probably couldn't get within ten feet of him." It hurt twice over because the intimacy of the link was gone. Now there was just crude, raw power radiating like a flame from the Immortal. Even being on the same ship was giving Pretar a headache. "Could we do something for him? Medically shut down his mental telepathy." 

"I wouldn't suggest it. Not this soon." The doctor shook his head. "There must be some way for him to open up...." 

A bizarre idea flashed into Pretar's head. "I know just the person. I'll go relieve him on the bridge, and send him down to the mess hall." The Captain stood and started to leave. He stuck his head back into the room. "If that doesn't get a reaction, I don't know what will."

* * *

Methos stood outside the mess hall doors, absently smoothing his uniform. He couldn't believe he was...nervous. He hadn't felt this way since a dark bar and beautiful blond. This was completely different. _And totally the same_ , he reminded himself. Richie accepted him as Adam, the Buttinsky. _Can he handle Methos the Legend? No time like the present._

One deep breath, and Methos strolled into the room, giving the crowd a practiced once over. It wasn't difficult to spot Richie. He sat alone in the far corner, radiating an aura of distance. Even as the Immortal watched, a table nearby suddenly moved farther away. Each crewman gave the pilot a tense look as they left. 

_Peanut butter cookies_ , Methos suddenly thought. He ambled over to the replicators. "Peanut butter cookies, a dozen. Milk, one glass, cold." Nothing like comfort food to face a very grownup boy. The machine whirred as his order was materialized, and then his stalling was over. Another deep breath, and he walked over to Richie's table. 

The other Immortal looked up as he neared. It wouldn't have been too terribly hard to guess who was approaching. "Do you want to talk about it?" There was no reply, no response at all. "Fine by me. This seat taken?" Methos asked, waving his plate at the chair across from Richie. The boy mumbled something as he gestured with his hand. Methos took that as a 'yes' and sat. He set his food in front of him. "What is that?" he asked when he saw what Richie was eating. _Or not eating_ , he corrected himself. 

Richie mentioned something vaguely Deltan and looked up. His eyes met Methos', but not before he managed to take in the outfit. The boy's face grew cold as he finally stared at the other Immortal. "No phaser?"

Methos laughed, and instantly regretted it. Richie's blue eyes darkened almost to black as he glanced at the uniform again. The older Immortal got the picture. _I'm encroaching on another of his territories, and he's threatened. Time to defuse that one._ "I can take it off, you know." In a fit of cussedness, Methos reached for the fastener and opened the jumpsuit down to his waist. "I did live through a time or two when nudity wasn't frowned upon." With a wiggle, the jumpsuit was off his shoulders. He had started lifting the gray undershirt before Richie spoke and stopped him. 

"No, it's fine." With a grimace, Richie pushed his plate to the side and leaned back in his chair. Methos waited, leaving the next conversational gambit in Richie's court. "It looks good on you. I'm just surprised." 

"Oh, really?" Methos asked as he shrugged back into the uniform. "Why do I feel like I just leapt over a hurdle?" 

Richie blushed at that. "Sorry. I just meant I never took you for the official uniform type. All that spy and SI business." Unseen pictures were added in the boy's eyes, ones Methos could guess at. But that wasn't all. His eyes kept trailing down to the cookies. 

"Have one," Methos insisted as he shoved the plate into the center of the table. _Never liked peanut butter anyway._ He added his best disarming smile. "So, would you rather see me in a tuxedo and doing my James Bond impression? I'm better than Duncan, by the way."

The older Immortal was surprised when Richie didn't flinch at MacLeod's name. Instead, he reached out and grabbed a cookie. "I'm sure," was all he said. By this time Methos had expected some big reaction. Anger, hatred. Gratitude. Pretar had been right, it's all bottled up inside. The boy must have caught some hint of the concern. "Look, Adam, I'm tired and exhausted. We still have several hours before we're in Federation space, and another who-knows-how-long before we're safe. No games. What kind of trouble are you about to get me into?" 

"The good kind," Methos replied. 

Richie snorted at that. "I'm not interested any more." With a sigh, he reached across and grabbed his still-full plate then started to rise. Methos quickly placed a hand over his and stopped him. 

"My real name is Methos. I was born so long ago I can't even remember when, or where. The earliest thing I do remember is taking my first head, over five thousand five hundred years ago. I am the oldest living Immortal that I know of. And we have kept that secret from you for far too long." Richie sat back down, never taking his eyes off of the other Immortal. "I like rock and roll, blondes in all shapes and sizes, and beer. That was a good invention, beer. I've seen civilizations rise and fall, seen Immortals come and go...." Methos was interrupted as the klaxon sounded. 

***Red alert. All hands to battle stations. Red alert. All hands to battle station....***

Richie sprang from his chair when the Red Alert sounded. Methos should have expected as much. But the ancient Immortal still had one thing left to say, and God and the universe could wait. He had to stretch to grab Richie's wrist as the younger Immortal blew past the table. By the time Richie swung around, Methos was standing and projecting as hard as he could.

"He loves you more than life itself, Richard Ryan," Methos breathed, his voice low and soft. Somehow the klaxon and noise vanished, replaced by quiet calm and poised expectations. "What you are doing is killing you both. As sure as any blade ever could. Don't throw everything away without a fight. He taught you better than that." His words finished, he released the stunned Immortal and headed for the nearest turbolift.

* * *

"Report," Pretar heard Richie call out as the turbolift doors opened. It sounded like some of the old Richie was back. Ensign Lavelle turned the conn over smoothly and then stalked over to the Engineering console, as if daring anyone to tell him to leave. 

The Captain turned back to his First Officer as Adam took over at Tactical. "We've dropped down to Warp 4. The chief engineer needs to take the warp engines off line to repair a microfracture in the dilithium cradle. She estimates it will take two hours. Klingon warbirds will be here...." His voice trailed off as he turned sideways to look at Ensign Sito. 

"Thirty minutes," the Bajoran at Ops answered. "With the warp engines off line, there won't be enough power for shields and phasers." She tried to stop a nervous gulp without success. "We'll be sitting ducks...." 

Richie scooted down to the end of his console. He called up some information on the display then hit his combadge. "Ryan to Gomez. How much for two hours, minimal interference?" 

***What?***

The Immortal shook his head. "Two hours with the warp core off-line, minor shaking. I'll need one crewmember from Engineering. What will you give me?" 

***Is this a damn bet?***

Pretar was having a hard time with this as well. Richie almost hit the console with his fist. "Yes! How much?" The Immortal slid his chair to the other side of the small horseshoe shaped console. "And it better be good." 

***One bottle of Romulan Ale. And a full two hours, not a second less. All right people, you heard the man....***

"Done," Richie yelped. The sound of bedlam erupted from the channel to Engineering. "Have a crewman meet me at the shield emitters in five minutes, with a full toolbox. Two hours will start sometime in the next thirty minutes. Richie out." A slap to his chest closed the line. Before anyone could argue, he was out of his chair. As he ran by the Engineering console, he pointed at the still spinning chair. "You," he said as he looked at Ensign Lavelle. "Find me a G-type star in a fifteen minute radius. Smaller if you have too." Then the Immortal jumped into the turbolift.

* * *

"Hand me another phase modulator," Richie called out to the Vulcan crewman assisting him. Most of the Immortal's body was stuck inside the shield emitter's inner core. His hand appeared and waved around. 

The Vulcan calmly handed the module over. "I do not understand the necessity of modifying the emitters at this time. It is more logical that some form of surrender be initiated." The Immortal's hand appeared again, this time holding a spanner. The tool was banged against Taurik's leg rather hard. He did not respond in any way. 

Richie's head surfaced from a small hatch. "Now why would we go and do that? I just spent seventy-two hours with them. I don't want to go back. I need that power coupling over there." 

"Then I can understand your hesitation to do the logical thing." He handed over the coupling as the Immortal disappeared again. "May I ask the purpose of these modifications? I may be able to assist you."

Mumbled words erupted from the emitter. "You know anything about subspace properties in relation to radiation and temperature?" Another spare part tumbled from the core opening and the Vulcan bent to retrieve it. 

"No, sir, I do not....." 

A disembodied hand appeared and searched around for the display panel. Richie's voice followed it. "Then I don't think you can be much help." The hand found it's goal and activated a power relay. The emitter lit up and sparks erupted from the hatch. "Damn!" 

"...but my father's sister is a subspace expert at the Vulcan Science Academy," the Vulcan finished without a hint of smugness. "You have not modulated the power frequency yet, Commander." 

Richie's head popped out again. "Uh, thanks. She wouldn't be Dr. T'Pan by any chance?" The Immortal cocked his head and pointed to the modulator he needed for the power relay. 

Taurik handed it over. "You are correct. My senior thesis was interstellar dynamics in regards to high frequency atomic reactions." There had been only two professors at the Academy who could understand his work. The choice had been...logical. 

"Good," Richie replied. "I'm trying to modify the shields to filter out high frequency radiation...." 

The Vulcan finished for him. "Such as that found in a G-type or lesser star's corona. A metaphasic shield. Dr. Reyga, I believe?" Taurik nodded when he finally understood the modifications being done. "You are attempting to modify the shield frequency notation to include higher temperatures and broader radiation signatures. By hiding in a star's corona, that will give Chief Engineer Gomez enough time to repair the cradle. Fascinating." 

"You get a gold star for homework. I love it when I don't have to explain everything," Richie beamed as his grinning head loomed. "Hand me that sonic screwdriver, will you?"

* * *

"We there yet?" Richie called out as the turbolift doors opened on the bridge. Pretar turned where he stood in the middle of the bridge, his arms across his chest. The Immortal moved past Adam and ended up standing next to Pretar. Sam moved to get up, but Richie waved him off. The Betazoid watched a Vulcan slide into the Engineering console. 

Sam relaxed. "Felantra 238 in ten minutes. Just on the border of type G. Will that do?" He turned around and smiled, but Pretar was eyeing Richie. The Immortal hadn't changed since his modifications, and he was still sweaty and greasy from his work. 

_You know, a shower...._ Pretar's thought trailed off when he realized Richie couldn't hear him over the cacophony in his friend's mind. All the finesse they had been used to had disappeared, replaced by raw power in the Immortal's case. Captain Lorrict was still sensitive to the emotions, and direct thoughts of the Immortal when he put his mind to it, but the underlying link was gone. Gone for good. "So what have you got up your sleeve," he vocalized instead. 

Richie turned to face him and let loose a wide smile. "Give us time. Ops, ETA on the Klingons?" The Immortal walked around Pretar to face the Bajoran. It was almost like having the old, confidant Richie back. A mentally screaming Richie. 

"Ten minutes," Sito replied. 

"Taurik, activate the metaphasic shields," Richie called out to the Vulcan at Engineering. A subtle whine started, then settled into place. "Helm, head for the star's corona." Sam turned to argue, but the look on the Immortal's face stopped the ensign. "Weapon systems," he called to Adam. The other Immortal just nodded an affirmative. "Bridge to Engineering. Countdown in ten minutes." Out of breath, Richie looked at Pretar and raised his eyebrow. The Betazoid didn't need telepathy to understand. Richie wanted to know if there was anything else, and if he should handle it. 

Pretar calmly sat in his seat. Maybe everything would be fine without the bond. They still knew each other well enough, and having to vocalize wouldn't destroy their friendship. Oh, sure, all the nice little asides would have to wait until they could be alone. But hundreds of Captains and First Officers worked that way. _We can too,_ Pretar vowed. "Take us in, Mr. Lavelle," the Captain ordered.

"Actually, his name is Methos," Richie whispered to Pretar over the command console. They were sitting in the two command chairs in the center of the bridge. They leaned toward each other for a private conference, one that the Betazoid was starting to wish had been in the Ready Room. It was much more private. "He's past fifty-five hundred."

Pretar resisted a chuckle. "Doesn't look a day over a thousand." He caught himself starting to turn and look at the Immortal standing at the Tactical console. In fact, he had found himself looking a lot. 

"You know...," Richie interrupted. The Betazoid turned back around. The smirk on Richie's face informed him the Immortal knew exactly what was on his mind. "I'll bet you stand a chance, Petey." Captain Lorrict knew his eyebrows shot up at that remark. "I told you I was still feeling things. And since he told me who he really was, I'm getting...." What Richie got was a far off look in his eyes. "Hard to port!" he suddenly shouted out. 

The helmsman had no time to react before the ship shook from a torpedo explosion. Alarms went off and an automatic red alert activated. "Explosion off the starboard bow," Methos called out as he brought the weapon systems to full readiness. 

"Trying to flush us out," Pretar theorized aloud. "Can we tell where it came from?" 

Ensign Sito cleared her throat as she worked. "No, sir." Her hands flew over the console again. "Sensors are still unable to function in the corona. Metaphasic shielding is holding at sixty-seven percent. Outside temperature...8000 and rising." 

Pretar saw Richie look down at the chronometer. He still had twenty-five more minutes for the bet. "Helm, full reverse. If they're tracking us, that should throw them off momentarily." Another explosion rocked the ship. This time ahead of them. 

The Betazoid turned to ask Richie for ideas and found the Immortal deep in concentration. "He's unsure where we are," Richie informed them. "But he seems to be following...a...wave displacement pattern."

Methos chimed in on that one. "We may be causing a fluctuation in the background patterns as we move through the corona. If that's true, he can get a general idea of our location, and take potshots." For some perverse reason, he felt the need to continue. "Odds are he'll hit us, and soon." 

"Thank you, Mr., ah, Pierson," Pretar responded. No wonder he never made Captain. He turned and checked to see if Richie was still in a trance. "Ideas?" he called out to the bridge at large.

"Yeah," Richie replied. His voice had gotten softer and his forehead was beginning to bead with sweat. "Torpedo One, heading 456 mark 2. Speed, twenty percent." Pretar turned to Tactical and saw Methos' shrug as he inputted the commands. "Fire," Richie called out. The torpedo shot out of the bay, a glittering mote against the fiery backdrop.

* * * * * * * *

Richie screwed his face into another grimace. He didn't notice it, he was trying to concentrate harder on the blob in his head that represented one of the Klingon ships and the sudden ball that shot away from him. His mind overlaid a shining trail of the torpedo's past and future path on the mental image. All Richie had to do was guess what the Klingon would do. And with three other torpedoes, that was a sure bet.

The Immortal rattled off another set of commands, sensing Methos' acceptance and intrigue. Then another ball, another trail, and fewer options for the Klingon captain to follow. That was what he was doing, trying to limit the opponent's choices, until the playing field resembled a pool table and the Bird-of-Prey the eight ball. Corner pocket. Still more instructions and then the third torpedo was fired. 

With a little more effort, he could project the immediate future. Including the Klingon's moves. He didn't realize his heart was pounding twice as fast and he was sweating more than he even had before. He was unaware of Pretar next to him, or Taurik scanning him with a medical tricorder from the emergency kit. One hastily rattled command, and the final torpedo was away. 

The sun was a clear globe with one glowing mass, the Klingon ship, and four fiery trails circling the sun. All he had to do was wait another minute and the Klingon would... The mass changed course, but in a different direction.

"Noooo!" Richie screamed out, suddenly standing on the bridge. The shock caused everyone to move away from the Immortal, afraid of what was going to happen. He felt the fear, felt the concern. And deep down, felt the growing satisfaction of the Klingon captain as he located the _Intrepid_. 

Despite the pain, the overwhelming agony the Immortal was ignoring, he reached. It was something like grabbing for one's sword, the learned ability to know where the hilt was and that by closing your hand here, you would grasp it. He grasped the satisfaction, and with it the Klingon. _Left,_ he thought. _Left._ So hard blood began to pour from his ears. _LEFT, GOD DAMN YOU!_

The Klingon ordered left, still feeling the excitement of catching his prey. A subordinate on the Bird-of-Prey shouted a warning, but Richie had complete control of the Captain's mind. The Klingon was still smiling as the first torpedo ripped into the hull. The second crippled the ship beyond immediate repair. The third drove the Bird-of-Prey too close to the star's corona. The metal hull began to burn, sending tendrils of liquid duranium out like feelers.

* * * * * * * *

Pretar cradled Richie's unconscious body as it lay on the deck. Someone was trying to tell him the metaphasic shield was weakening. The temperature was rising. The Betazoid heard and understood, but his hands would not let go. He rocked gently as he felt his friend's overly warm body in his arms. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. "I'll watch him," Methos said, speaking slowly. Pretar nodded and relinquished his burden.

"Engineering, time's up. Get those engines on-line." The Betazoid's voice was loud and harsh. 

***Just finished up. Warp speed at you discretion.***

Captain Lorrict absently rubbed his hand. "Helm, begin ascent. Once we clear the corona, I want Warp 9.5 all the way to the border." Sam acknowledged the order and began laying in the course. "Sito, there's still one more warbird out there. Ready phasers and the last tricobalt device. Fire if you see anything." 

"Beginning ascent," Sam called out. On the viewscreen, the fiery curtain shifted as they rose closer to the edge. The orange haze grew flimsier. Temperatures dropped back to acceptable levels. And the screen finally cleared. "Oh, shit," Ensign Lavelle cursed. 

The final Klingon Bird-of-Prey loomed across the screen, on a direct collision course. It was too late to stop or slow down, and by the looks of things, the Klingon was firing their disruptors. "Helm...."

Everything happened at once. Phaser fire erupted from the _Intrepid's_ hull, one searing bright beam stabbing at the Klingon's shields. As the front shields sparked and drew power to them, the last photon torpedo, still spinning around the star, crept in silently behind the warbird. A single tricobalt device, the last, shot toward the front shields, easily penetrating the heavily damaged area, to slam into the Klingon ship. The Bird-of-Prey's forward bridge suddenly erupted in fire, followed by an explosion in the rear. Deflector beams scattered the remaining debris as Sam pivoted the ship to slip through an opening in the middle. And Richie coughed. 

"K'talok. Blew his brains out. Boom." The Immortal was mumbling as Methos carefully picked him up and carried him to the turbolift. Richie was laughing hysterically and repeating himself as the doors shut. "Ship go boom!" Pretar turned at looked at the viewscreen. Clear, black night full of stars. No ships following, all hands aboard. In two hours, at their maximum warp, they would be safe in Federation territory. It was over. Finally. 

"Welcome back." 

Those were the first words Richie heard as his eyelids fluttered. What made it worse was they were in Adam's cheery accent. _His name is Methos...God, I've been such a dupe._

"I always thought that was the stupidest line ever uttered by an Immortal. But I never could come up with something better." The oldest living man chuckled. "Then again, I haven't really tried...."

Richie managed to turn over in the biobed. "Would you please go away?" 

Methos continued as if Richie hadn't spoken. "It just sounds so lame when talking to a god." His eyes finally met Richie's, with such an intense stare the younger Immortal couldn't look away. 

"God?" 

The other moved from his chair to sit on the side of the biobed. "Worf, son of Mog, told us a few of the 'legends' regarding R'chIy'. I wrote them off as superstitious prattle. A death howl an entire planet heard? And then the one you are most famous for. Surviving a warp core breech, and re-entry, walking for days to the Capitol, fighting a true Klingon warrior and defeating him not once, but twice, while being mostly dead yourself. Then single-handedly winning the entire High Council over to peace."

There was nothing Richie could say to that. "I mean, really," Methos continued. "You are supposedly right up there next to Kahless the Invincible." 

"Actually, I think I just took his place," Richie muttered.

"Then I watched you receive the most powerful Quickening I've ever seen, drive a starship into a sun's corona, and then play 3-D chess with a Klingon battlecruiser using four missiles and a star." Methos stopped for a breath. 

Richie tried to muster as much sarcasm as he could muster. "And this is leading...?" 

"Are you a god?" Methos asked, straight-faced. In fact, if Richie wasn't hallucinating, the old one looked slightly in awe. As if he wanted to believe Richie was some kind of superbeing. 

"No," Richie replied, deciding to tell the truth. _Me, a god? I don't think I could lie that much to myself._

The awe and wonder slipped away from Methos' face like water, to be replaced by the serious stare Richie had come to fear. "Good. I was wondering if you were immature enough to delude yourself into believing you were." 

Something snapped inside the Starfleet pilot. "God damn it! What the Hell are you doing?" Richie's shrill voice brought Dr. Simmons to the Sickbay door, but the doctor didn't enter. 

Methos shrugged. "Take it from me, godhood is not all it's cracked up to be. It invariably makes you feel invincible, until some young Immortal comes along and takes off your head." 

Richie's first reaction was anger and sarcasm, but something inside him settled into place, and he heard the meanings behind the words Methos was using. "You've been there. You thought you were a god." 

"It's a real nice racket, until another Immortal shows up," Methos acknowledged. "Then things usually fell apart. I'm sure you know how the Klingons dealt with their 'gods.' Killed them all. Sometimes playing god was necessary, to help us survive. But the time for that is over." 

"Nice to know I'm just a regular guy," Richie admitted as he turned over on his side, presenting his back to Methos. He buried his head in his pillow. "Since I'm no longer Superman, I'd like to get some sleep," he mumbled. 

Methos' hand gently rested on the young Immortal's side. "But I'll admit, Richie, I don't think I know another person who could go through what you have and survive. Duncan couldn't, and neither could I."

"Thanks," Richie muttered. "Now what do you really want?"

The older Immortal's voice trembled slightly. "I think I may have made a mistake all those years ago. And maybe it's just too late...." His voice trailed off. "I'd like to get to know you, Richie Ryan. And let you know me. The 'Methos' me." 

Richie turned back around, examining the older Immortal's face for any trace of guile or deceit. He couldn't find any, but he was unsure of Methos' sincerity. "I don't know." There was a brief flash of something across the pale features of the other Immortal. _Pain? Loss? That I won't play this game, or something else? Can I afford to turn him down? No._ "But I'm willing to give it a shot, and see what develops. I can't promise anything, though." 

Methos smiled, and for once Richie saw nothing other than happiness. "That's all we can do, Richie. Try. And hope for the best." The ancient Immortal's hand reached out, slipping into his for a firm grasp, that lasted longer than a mere 'hello.' 

Richie blinked, surprised to find his eyes watering. He felt...honored. And relieved. "Thank you...for rescuing me." 

"I believe that makes us even, youngling." Methos' other hand snaked out and ruffled Richie's dirty blond curls. 

He let go of Methos' hand and slumped back on the bed. "Oh, man. Don't even start. I'm almost four hundred and I still can't get any respect."

Methos' hand dropped from Richie's hair to his shoulder for a gentle squeeze. "You have my respect, young one. And I get to call everyone that. Amanda, even Duncan." 

It was difficult to imagine Duncan being called young. "Yeah, but I bet you don't ruffle his hair...." 

The ancient Immortal looked sad. "Sometimes we all need to feel that way again, if only for a moment." The look passed as Methos examined the wall monitors. "I promised Captain Lorrict I'd relieve him on the bride as soon as you woke. He's chomping at the bit to come see you."

Not ready to press the earlier comment, Richie let it pass. "I can believe he is." The other Immortal stood and made his way to the Sickbay door. "Methos?" The ancient one turned and waited. "Come back when you can, if you want. I'd like to talk some more." 

A wry grin crossed Methos lips as he bowed formally, his hand cupped to his breast. "As you wish, O Mighty One." The doors barely shut before the biobed pillow sailed through the space his head had recently occupied.

* * *

Pretar Lorrict leaned over the railing of the shuttlebay's viewing platform. Down below, the last of the _Intrepid's_ shuttlecraft was being loaded. The _Surak_. The technician next to him cleared his throat. " _Colorado_ , you are now clear for landing. Welcome home, Commander." 

_He's here_ , Pretar thought. _Only gone two weeks and I feel like a bride before the wedding._ Stretching tired muscles in his back, he stood straight. The large runabout easily glided into position in the tiny bay. It would take a moment to shut off power, enough to let Pretar get down to the main floor. 

The Betazoid was waiting as the side airlock opened. There Richie Ryan stood, duffel bag in hand. "Hello, sailor," Pretar called out. He was rewarded by a rather tight hug. It took a moment before the Immortal would let go. "Well, you should go away more often." 

Richie smiled. "First time I'd been away for a long time. Especially without...." He made a motion between them. Pretar nodded. "God, I missed you all. Two weeks? Seemed like two years." 

"We missed you too," The Betazoid replied. The words made Richie smile even wider. _Must have needed to hear that,_ Pretar speculated. "So, while we've been busting our tails getting this ship back together, you've been loafing around the _Enterprise_." Richie had chosen to escort the junior officers and Methos back to the flagship. But the Captain was surprised the Immortal had returned with the runabout. 

Pretar's glance at the _Colorado_ was enough for Richie to pick up. "Methos and Beverly pulled a few strings. They think I should drop by Duncan MacLeod's for an extended visit." The Betazoid fixed a steady gaze on his friend. "I don't know if I can," Richie whispered. "Not yet. I've got some things I needed to work through. And it still hurts...in here." His hand rose to his chest. "I don't think it will ever go away." 

Captain Lorrict gave Richie his best smile, trying to convey all the nuances they were used to. "You built walls for the last two hundred years, Rich. They just don't disappear overnight. But you have time. You both do. And I'll help however I can." 

Richie nodded, more for his own benefit than the Betazoid's. "Thanks. Come on, let's get out of here. If I never see that runabout...."

"I thought you would enjoy yourself," Pretar pointed out as they walked side by side to the main airlock. Richie slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. "Old home week for you and your kinfolk."

The Immortal chuckled. "Well, we still haven't told Jean-Luc I'm the same Richie Ryan. It's been real funny. He thinks I'm a son. And tried to tell me every story he knows about my 'father'." Pretar pointed left at a corridor, indicating the way to Engineering. Richie turned without missing a beat. "It was nice to talk to Bev again. And all...Methos and I did was talk on the trip out there. About a lot of things. After locking those junior peabrains in the aft compartment and taking over the forward for ourselves." 

"Hey, those junior peabrains saved your skin." A turn through a door and they found themselves on the upper level of Main Engineering. Below them, the normal crew was scurrying about at their work. The pair took a moment to watch. "Sonya found a couple of cute ensigns among them." 

Richie acted casual. "Oh, yeah, and you didn't have your eye on a certain dashing helmsman?" 

Pretar threw Richie a look. "Did not." The Betazoid didn't need a bond to tell when he was being teased. He led the way down a flight of stairs until they appeared on the main floor. A few of the new crew froze, wondering what was going on. "Besides," Pretar added in a whisper, "I'm keeping myself available for a certain artifact." Just then, a lieutenant appeared, asking if there was anything he could help them with. "Commander Gomez, please." 

"Ah, she left about ten minutes ago," the man stammered and pointed out a door. "Dr. Simmons was with her, I believe." 

"Thanks," Richie replied. They scooted out the door and headed down the corridor. "Don't keep holding your breath. He and Beverly seem to be hitting it off." Pretar audibly exhaled in mock protest. That brought a laugh to both their lips. "Besides, look on the bright side." 

The Betazoid thought a moment. "And what, oh wise one, is the bright side?" 

An arm snaked around the Captain's neck from behind, and Richie pulled him closer. "I dunno. I was hoping you could tell me. Where are all the women who are gonna throw themselves at my feet?" They paused at an intersection, looking all four ways. When the coast was clear, they resumed their casual walk. 

"I think Ensign Bird worships the ground you walk on," Pretar pointed out. "He hasn't stopped talking about you since you left." The overly active ensign was still on board. Captain Lorrict had arranged for the _Hood_ to meet them in Sector 221 to transport the errant cadet back to the Academy. A month late, but with a firm commitment for a spot on the _Geronimo_ after graduation. 

Just then, a breathless ensign appeared as they turned a corner. He quickly jerked into the start of a salute, then froze. "Uh, Captain?" To say the boy was nervous was an understatement. The muscles were tense and shaking and his jaw was probably locked. His face was turning positively white. "I'm supposed to report for duty?" he asked weakly. "Ensign Ruppert?" 

Pretar made an exaggerated gasp of recognition. "Oh, yes." The Betazoid reached out a hand and pumped the ensign's thoroughly. "Welcome aboard. What can I do for you?" 

"I think I'm lost," came the hesitant reply. 

The Captain looked around until he spotted another ensign down the corridor. "Ensign," he shouted. The woman looked up and started walking toward them. "Take Ensign...Ruppert, here, and show him around." A shove got the man started toward the woman. "Carry on," Pretar added before he and Richie sped around the corner and sprinted toward the turbolift. 

"Oh, God," Richie laughed once the doors were closed. "I though I was about to die." Pretar groaned at the pun. "No, really."

"Deck Two," Pretar gasped as he held his sides. "Were we ever that young?" He made eye contact with the Immortal and both started laughing again. "I am so glad you're back." The turbolift doors opened and the pair walked down the hall, still chuckling.

Richie paused, as if the sudden thought took all his concentration. "What did you put in your report?" he asked. 

"No Immortals. No Quickening the size of a planet. Just a bargaining chip and renegade Klingons at the border." His hand gave Richie's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "No big "K", either."

The Immortal weakly smiled. "Good enough. If word ever got out about Klingon Immortals, let alone I defeated Kahless.... God, I still can't believe it." 

Pretar grew concerned. "I thought you and Methos were going to talk about that?" 

"We did," Richie confirmed. "He was a lot of help. But it's still overwhelming. All it seems I've done is talk, but I really just want to do something. Anything." Under the Betazoid's gentle urging, they resumed their walk. "It's like I've got all this energy just waiting inside me, and I don't know what to do with it. All this power...."

"I can feel it," Pretar confirmed, his hand still on Richie's back. 

"I talked to Beverly and Deanna," Richie suddenly announced very quietly. Pretar stopped and turned as the Immortal continued. "They both verify I'm dead as a doornail, psychically speaking. I burned everything out, and it doesn't look like it's gonna heal." The Betazoid nodded with understanding in his heart. 

"It's fine, Rich," he said. "We just go back to the way things were." 

The Immortal looked at his feet. "I miss it, Petey." 

Pretar silently nodded as he gently urged Richie down the corridor. The main doors to the forward mess hall parted as they approached. Inside, it was dark and quiet. Everyone was currently on duty in an effort to get everything ship shape. The next meal time was two hours away, and today, there were no stragglers. 

Two shapes were already waiting near a table, drinks in hand. Richie slipped in next to Sonya, who leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Welcome home," she said, handing over a shot of whiskey. Dr. Simmons added his own smile as he handed a tall glass of Saurian brandy to the captain.

The foursome looked out at the stars and the planet below them. Pretar tapped his combadge in the silence. "Mr. Whitmore. Set a course for the Farion system. Warp three. Take us out of orbit as soon as Engineering is ready." The Captain looked at the assembled group. "And make it good," he added. 

***Yes, sir. Bridge out.***

Pretar Lorrict lifted his glass toward the starfield. "Once more," he said. The feelings and the meanings were his alone, and he had never shared them. 

The clear glass in Jarvis' hand rose next. "Forward, ever forward," he whispered. A tear was running down his cheek, but no one needed to ask. This was the first posting the doctor had taken since his wife died. 

"For George," Sonya quietly added. She was too young to have found her saying. But in this group, that was all right. The Engineer was just starting her career, and everyone assured her not to rush picking one out. 

Richie was last. His glass rose forward, meeting the other three. Ever since he was a little boy, and he had snuck out to the orphanage roof to watch the stars, he had dreamed of being out here. And here he was. He felt his journey was just beginning as well. "To space," he offered.

The glasses clinked and the four swallowed their liquids of choice. The view rotated as the ship got under way. The star pirouetted until they were oriented in the right direction. The ship slid ahead, the pinpricks of light moving to the sides as they advanced. The _Intrepid_ picked up speed, the stars tumbling by. Then everything exploded as the ship and her crew jumped forward. Forward, ever forward, once more to space.

> We shall not cease from exploration  
>  And the end of all our exploring  
> Will be to arrive where we started  
> And know the place for the first time.
>
>> \-- **T.S. Eliot** , Earth Poet (1888-1965) 


	7. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section occurs in the middle of the _next_ story in this universe (which was actually written first). A few minor spoilers for the next story are included.

EPILOGUE 

**2371 A.D. -- Stardate 48410.5 -- Somewhere on the far side of the Gamma Quadrant**

Richie Ryan lay on the ground, his head propped up by a small rock, taking in the stars that filled the night sky on this unnamed planet. He had excused himself right after supper, wanting to get away from Duncan's morbid humor and Jono's sullen stare. The sunset had been terrific. And now, far enough away from the runabout's lights, there was nothing to stop him from looking and wondering at the majesty sprawled out above him. 

He heard the footsteps approach after he felt the intruder. "I thought you might need this," Duncan told him as a heavy folded blanket landed on his legs. 

"Thanks, Dad," Richie replied, too late to stop the automatic tone of voice he used when he felt mothered. The younger Immortal winced. "I'm sorry, Mac. Old habit. Thanks." He unfurled the blanket and let it settle over his legs. He had been feeling chill, but loathed to leave this little bit of paradise. 

Sounds of the Highlander shuffling around drew him up to his elbows. He had fully expected Duncan to either leave, or join him in his stargazing. But MacLeod was moving about the area, gathering items and dumping them into a pile. _A campfire._

Duncan was crouched down, arranging the wood as Richie thought that. The Scot's head came up almost at the same time, as if the Highlander had heard the comment, and the once-upon-a-time student could sense his mentor's gaze in the dark. _Just like Petey...._

For a brief moment, Richie longed to share the same close rapport with Duncan, the intimate knowing and being that came from a bond. Maybe the past pain could have been avoided. The common misunderstandings resolved and not left to simmer and fester. _What would have become of us, if we had stayed together?_

_I probably wouldn't have joined Starfleet,_ Richie realized. _Nor met Petey. No_ Intrepid _. No R'chIy'. Possibly no treaty with the Klingons. Was Mac the price of peace for the galaxy? Could one person make that much of a difference?_

"What are you thinking?" Duncan asked in the dark. The baritone voice caught Richie off-guard. 

"Might-have-beens." 

The Highlander fired his phaser into the pile of wood, the dried plants catching fire and illuminating Duncan's face in a golden glow. It was a sad face at the moment. His eyes darted all around before settling on Richie. He nodded minutely, in either understanding or acknowledgment. 

For a brief second, Richie wished he knew MacLeod better, to be able offer support. Killing Jharris had been solely about him, and his unwillingness to do the job himself. Duncan had played executioner on Richie's behalf, and the younger Immortal wanted to ease the blame. He patted the ground next to him, in invitation. 

The Highlander looked back at the fire, as if searching for answers. But the flickering flames held none. Duncan slowly stood, and eyed the spot next to Richie. With almost a resigned air, he settled next to the blond. "You always did have a thing for stars," MacLeod pointed out as he shuffled in an effort to get comfortable. "All those nights you climbed to the dojo roof." 

"Best seat in the house," Richie added with a chuckle. "You'd come up after a couple of hours with some coffee or hot chocolate. We'd talk.... It always felt we were on, like, a different planet for a while."

"Did you know...back then...?" Duncan's voice trailed off.

"That I'd fly among the stars?" Richie finished for him. The younger Immortal wiggled further under the blanket. It was getting colder. "Yeah. I guess I did." 

It sounded like the breath caught in MacLeod's throat. When he finally did speak, his voice was ragged and barely above a whisper. "And I didn't believe." 

Richie tried to think of a helpful reply. A brief comment from one of their arguments over movies surfaced, about how the times they had grown up in affect the rest of their long lives. "How could you, Mac? I grew up in a time when space travel was a reality. The Moon, the stars, that was possible. You lived in a time where people believed the night sky was a black curtain...and everything revolved around the Earth!"

The Highlander managed a small chuckle. "I'm not as backwards as all that, Rich. Not anymore." 

"Aren't you?" Richie shot back. The younger Immortal turned and raised his head to his hand, propping it up with his elbow. "Aren't you the same honor-driven, over-protective Highlander that Debra What's-her-name fell for all those centuries ago? Or Amanda, or Tessa...." 

Duncan eyed his former protégé sideways. "So, you think I'm bull-headed, stubborn, unwashed...." 

"And we love you for it," Richie broke in to add. It wasn't until the words had left his mouth that he realized he had included himself.

The teasing mood disappeared, replaced by a reflective silence. "I wondered," Duncan finally said after a long sigh. 

"I did too, at times," Richie added. "I heard Methos, that night on your barge. Your birthday...." 

"I thought as much," Duncan replied, his voice flat and empty. "I was surprised you didn't go ahead and come to the door. Leaving the gift in the car was out of character." MacLeod shifted uncomfortably. "Is that why you left, on Alpha Centauri? Because you thought I...."

"No," Richie cut in. The Highlander waited for him to continue, but the younger Immortal lay back on the ground, unable to face MacLeod.

It was Duncan's turn to look over, sizing up the man next to him. "It was the night you called me in Seacouver, said you were going after Felicia Martins. I worried, I agonized. Methos finally sat me down and told me to let go. But I couldn't." 

The Highlander's eyes unfocused, the reflected flames dancing in their brown depths, giving the impression of a scene unfolding in his soul. "I told him it had been a mistake for me to train you. I saw how good you could be, one day. I could teach you how to fight...how to win. But you needed so much more then I could give you. And I could see how it was holding you back.... If you had had a proper mentor, you wouldn't have been afraid of the Game. You'd be fighting your way closer to the Prize." 

"Mac," Richie said, resting his hand on Duncan's. "Stop it." 

"You needed someone to tell you all the things a boy should hear, and know. To tell you how special you were. Someone to make up for all those years you were growing up, alone and unwanted..." 

"Duncan." Maybe it was the use of his first name, or the gentle squeeze of his hand that stopped the Highlander. He looked at Richie with tear-filled eyes. "Just because you couldn't say the words, didn't mean I never felt them. I know I was much, much more then just a student. I could see it in your eyes." The younger Immortal's hand reached out, drying the tears from the chiseled, olive skinned cheeks. "You gave me a home, a life, even a set of morals I didn't think I could follow. You guided me, and worried about me, and loved me. You were exactly what I needed. And wanted." 

"Then why did you leave?" The tone of MacLeod's voice broke Richie's heart. For after reaffirming Duncan's importance, he would have to bare his own unworthiness. His hand fell away from the face of his teacher and he turned over, his back to MacLeod, breaking all contact with the Highlander. 

He couldn't stop the sobs that escaped his mouth, the tremors that shook his body. To think all these years the Highlander thought he was the one who had failed. But Richie was the failure. The buried memory and the years of visions came flooding back, showing him over and over again how despicable he was. The white trash street punk, for all eternity. Scum that would kill the most important person in his life. 

A hand rested on his shoulder, the soft whispers of Duncan's accent trying to calm him. "Shhh, Richie. It's okay." 

_How in the Hell could it be okay?_ "I left...because I found out I could kill you...." Another sob wracked his body. "I came this close to taking your head. That was the last thing in the world I wanted." 

"Rich..." 

The younger Immortal turned over, finding himself face to face with the Highlander. "I wanted to kill you, Mac. I could taste your Quickening on my lips." 

"But you didn't...." 

_Why won't he understand?_ "But I wanted to! I still want to! Right now! God, Mac, why are you so dense?" Richie was truly angry, almost screaming at MacLeod. 

Duncan paused a moment, letting his hand reach out and brush the short curls out of Richie's face to cover the silence. The Highlander's eyes were sad and full of concern. "I used to think the scars from your childhood had healed. But there's a lot of that frightened teenager that came to live with me still with you." 

Richie pushed MacLeod's hand away in disgust as he lay down on his back. "You don't know what you're talking about." 

MacLeod grabbed Richie's hand and lowered it to his stomach. "Tell me, Richard, was I ever not the enemy?" 

Even Pretar had never been that insightful. In a heartbeat, all the walls and defenses were identified and named for Richie's inspection. Things he never could figure out alone became clear in one shining moment. "No," he found his voice admitting, watching helplessly at the pain his admission caused Duncan. 

"Even so, can you kill me?" Duncan asked as he slid closer, his brown eyes holding the young Immortal fast, caught in a web of lies he had lived all his life, unknown to even himself. 

"No," Richie whispered, feeling the truthfulness of the word reverberating through him. "I.... I think that's why I found the visions so disturbing. I thought I was seeing myself kill you. Over and over again. That I'd someday hate you so much...." 

Duncan lay back down, the movement causing his hand to slip off Richie. The younger Immortal was surprised to realize their fingers had still been intertwined. "I know how horrible that can be," the Highlander quietly admitted as he looked up at the sky, then fell silent. 

"Mac?" Richie prompted. 

MacLeod shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his stomach. "I don't think a week has passed in almost four hundred years I don't see you kneeling on the dojo floor, scared, defeated, waiting. I can still feel the pleasure. If Joe hadn't...." 

"Are we back to might-have-beens again, Mac?" 

The Highlander literally squirmed at the question. "No. I stopped tormenting myself about almost killing you a long time ago. But it still hurts to think I could do it...." 

Richie turned over on his stomach and propped himself on his elbows, uncomfortably close to the Highlander. "It's yours, you know." He almost choked on the words, it was so hard for him to admit what he felt he owed MacLeod. "My head. My life. Anything you want. You gave it all to me, Mac." 

Duncan found the courage to look at Richie. "All I ever wanted was your friendship. Your company. And some indication you were concerned with your own life, your own worth." 

It was a rare grin that Richie gave him; happy and playful, with just a hint of mischief at the corners. "Seems like I did okay. I've lived this long, haven't I?" 

That got Duncan to chuckle. "Yes, you have. Quite well in fact. Not many people, Immortal or not, can say they've terrorized an entire galaxy." 

Richie responded with his most innocent 'who, me?' look, before his features turned serious again. "What do we do, now?" he asked, almost a whisper. The words didn't need to travel far, it was almost like the two existed in their own private world. "Where do we go from here?"

"I want you to be a part of my life, Rich. I want you to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, bringing all kinds of havoc with you. I want to help you when you hurt, and celebrate when you succeed. I want you to tell me when I'm being pig-headed, stubborn, and unreasonable." MacLeod turned his head, so he could see the younger Immortal. "I want you to brighten my life like you did all those years ago, my friend."

It was all Richie had wanted. "Done, my friend. Done." He turned over on his back again, but towards the Highlander. His head brushed against MacLeod's arm, his neck forced to an odd angle. But the contact was worth it. It was nice to feel Duncan, to know he was actually there. "But you have to promise not to worry about me...." 

"Sorry, comes with the job." 

Richie snorted. ""You've got to stop telling me what to do...."

Duncan shrugged, "I was born that way." 

"I don't want to hear another story about how you know better...."

"But I do, Rich." 

The younger Immortal rose up on his elbows, the better to glare at MacLeod. "What exactly am I getting out of this arrangement?" 

With a grin, Duncan raised up and pulled the younger Immortal back down, letting Richie's head rest on the broad Scottish shoulder. "You get to eat my cooking." 

Richie laughed. "I knew there was a reason I wanted to live with you...." The pair lapsed into silence, content to watch the stars and just experience being together. 

It was much later, after the fire had died down, that Duncan spoke. "I wished I had brought some cognac. We're overdue for our 250 year anniversary." Richie murmured something into the Highlander's neck, having apparently given up on stargazing a long time ago. "What was that?" 

The younger Immortal shifted around until his mouth was clear. "I said 'I'm glad you didn't'. Cognac always gave me gas. Right now, I'd like a steaming mug of cider." 

"We could go back to the runabout..." Duncan began but Richie nodded against his shoulder. 

"I'm too content where I am." 

_So am I,_ Duncan silently added, surprised at how easy their reconciliation had been. _But I guess we had both wanted it for so long, we'd welcome any excuse._

Richie scrunched closer to MacLeod, burrowing further under the blanket that covered them both. "Mac? Do you think we'll ever get back home?"

Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod, looked at the stars again, so strange and different, and yet so totally the same. It wasn't hard to imagine they were once again on top of the dojo loft, a thermos of hot cocoa at their elbows, just lying in that languid peace of good friends. Or even their lazy nights on the island shore, listening to the animals and insects as the fire died down, having shared more about themselves than they had with any other person. "We are home, Rich. We already are."


End file.
